


String Theory

by elena_stidham



Series: Lilac Theory [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elena_stidham/pseuds/elena_stidham
Summary: "The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break."--Ancient Chinese Myth





	1. Confounding Variable

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language  
> SONGS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: Nothing in particular. Various things, really.  
> Hello! Yes, hi, tis I, thebaehood. I write. Bet you all didn’t know that. I wanted to write a slowburn of canonverse Otayuri for a while and I thought it was unoriginal of me but then I remembered everybody interprets it differently sooooooo yeah! Special shout out to @yoi-trash-blog on Tumblr for being my beta and being overall awesome because honestly her writing is so good I couldn’t think of anyone else as a better beta. I’m also sorry in advance: this is going to take a while to write. If future chapters go at the rate of this one, yeah, it’s going to take a while. Either way, I hope you guys enjoy it!! Thank you so much for reading!!  
> -Elena

 

**********************************************************************

**WHERE THEY STAND:**

**Just met – just friends – apparently they’ve met before.**

**********************************************************************

“Beka?”

Yuri let out a teasing chuckle after hearing the name echo in his ears. He lifted his head back up towards his friend, eyebrows scrunched together playfully. The Kazakh just shrugged with a small grin tugging at the side of his mouth.

“My family used to call me that when I was a baby, and when my little sister was born that’s what she called me. It just stuck.”

Yuri had to admit, it was a little adorable, even though he hated literally everything about children. They have this weird tendency to touch everything and stick unknown objects in their mouth and it feels like they really serve no real purpose other than to keep him awake on a plane. It only made sense that he would want no part in that at all.

“Cute,” he mumbled, typing the name into the contact page as the two boys exchanged phones so that they can fill in the blank spot for a phone number.

“I’m sending a text to myself so I know it’s you, is that alright?”

“Of course.”

Otabek’s phone buzzed in his hand, the message notification folding down on the screen to show a simple text: _meow bitch_. He couldn’t help but snicker when they returned their phones to each other, and Yuri shot a text completely judging the message used to identify him. They didn’t want to stand up from the Barcelona steps yet, just watching the sunset before they would have to leave for dinner.

“So how many other siblings do you have?” Yuri asked, trying to make small talk.

The Kazakh just shook his head, “Just Tamara.”

Yuri only hummed in response, his mind buzzing with ways to start up a new conversation, as the one he tried to have was shot down just a bit too quickly. However, Otabek had no problem continuing speaking. “You got any siblings?”

The Russian shook his head, “Just me.”

“Must be lonely.”

He shook his head again, this time after making a face of halfway consideration. “Not really. It’s not like I would have the time to spend with them, anyway. If anything, I’m kinda happy that it’s just Grandpa and I. It lets me focus my time on him before he goes.”

Yuri may have never experienced direct loss – but he was not, by any means, ignorant. He had a firm grip on mortality, and he was fully aware that his grandfather was not getting any younger. Talking about it never hurt, neither did knowing that one day he would pass; however, he did know for a fact it was going to tear him to pieces when it happens. It was just a matter of time.

Otabek took notice on how the boy refrained from mentioning his parents, and he decided not to pry. Based on that alone, he knew that something probably happened and he would rather not talk about it. “How long has it just been you two?”

“Since I was about five.”

Yeah, something definitely happened.

There was a moment of silence, where the two boys just stared at the Barcelona sunset, watching the flames slowly extinguish behind the sky. They had to be leaving for dinner with the other skaters soon, and they knew this, but neither of them felt like socializing with the other skaters.

Oddly and ironically enough, they never minded socializing with each other. 

“Son of a _bitch_ –”

The phone slipped from Yuri’s hands, smashing to the ground following a desperate attempt to stop a collage of clatter and chaos following the bowls crashing down, cracking and creating a collection of broken ceramic on the tiles. He could almost hear Otabek on the other end of the line calling for him out of concern.  Letting out a _hmph_ of anger, Yuri quickly collected what he could and poured the remains in the trash – the smaller pieces swept up shortly after.

“You okay?” Otabek asked when a voice finally came from the other side of the phone.

“I just wanted a god damned bowl of cereal,” Yuri laughed, putting his friend on speaker as he set the phone on the table so he could eat at the same time. “I got an avalanche instead.”

A low chuckle echoed in the kitchen. “What cereal did you get?”

“Jack shit,” Yuri replied with a smirk that he knew only he would be able to see, sprinkling cinnamon on the bread in his hand before taking a bite. “I didn’t get any after that. I’m just eating cinnamon toast now.”

“Now you’ve got me wanting some,” Otabek let out a soft laugh through his nose, and noises of rummaging could be heard. “I haven’t had some since I was a kid but I remember how much I loved it.”

Cinnamon toast. A new bond.

“By the way, Tamara said congratulations on your gold,” Otabek’s voice was muffled from the other side of line, as if he was eating. Yuri grinned to himself when he heard the noise. He swallowed, then laughed, “She also wanted me to tell you Agape reminded her of Queen Elsa.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the Russian groaned, remembering that train wreck of a Disney film. “I was a little interested in meeting her but now I change my mind if she’s obsessed with _Frozen_.”

“It’s not that bad, honestly. Overplayed, yes, but I liked it.”

“You dare call yourself a Disney fan?”

“I mean,” Otabek let out a one-breath laugh as he spoke. There was no set emotion behind it – if anything it was rather humourless. “I haven’t seen any other Disney movies, so…”

 

**********************************************************************

**A SMALL TECHNICALITY:**

**He had watched the first quarter of “Mulan” before falling asleep.**

**********************************************************************

 

“ _What?_ Beka, you know what, I’m giving you homework.” Yuri stood, grabbing a pen and tearing a sheet of paper off of the refrigerator notepad. When he returned to the table, he started writing down names of his favourite Disney movies. He had a number one – _The Lion King,_ to nobody’s surprise – and the rest were in no particular order. “I’m going to send you a list of movies you need to watch, and you watch them, okay?”

Otabek just chuckled, “Sure, Yura.”

There was a pause, and Yuri looked over at the phone with an eyebrow raised. Clearly, the Kazakh caught on with what he said as well, because he apologized for any discomfort shortly after. There was a pause again where Yuri just sat in thought, mulling over the name a few times before he smiled softly to himself.

“Nah, it’s alright,” he replied, finishing writing down the last movie he could think of on the list. “I like it.”

Yuri took a picture and sent it through text message. There was a moment where he could hear Otabek reading through the films on the list and giggling to himself at his options. Finally, he said, “I’ll start with _Beauty and the Beast._ I heard that one’s a classic.”

“The remake’s just as good, too. Granted, a couple of the actors were nothing but autotune, but it was still nice on the ears, at least.”

“I’ll just stick to the originals before I start moving onto remakes, if that’s alright,” Otabek laughed.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Beka.”

The list was scribbled and the paper was an overall mess – clearly, Yuri’s doing. _Beauty and the Beast_ had smudges of cinnamon on the words.

 

* * *

 

Yuri had seen his fair share of PDA in his life, but Viktor and Katsudon really took the cake in grossing him out the most. They just _would not_ stop touching each other. He never understood how in those shitty romance novels on Amazon he would find would always start off with the two love interests slowly building up to each other until they become a couple; then they just explode and get all grabby; it never felt natural. No couple on the face of this planet would be all over each other the moment they get together. Those two were the literal incarnate of all of these couples put together and it was disgusting.

“Lift me higher, Vitya!”

“Hey, Vitya, let’s see if we can try this one!”

“Yuuri! Try to catch me!”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, they were fucking playing _tag_ in the rink. At first, Yuri tried to ignore them, but seeing them skating around with those _stupid ass grins_ on their faces only became more and more difficult to mute – and more and more disgusting.

Yuri never believed in love. Considering that his father used his mother until she gave herself up to him and ditched her immediately after finding out she was pregnant, it left a sour taste in his mouth at the very least. Not only that, but what few years he did live with his mother were enough to show him everything about the reality of love – or, in this case, lack thereof. It was absolutely sickening watching those two.

“Can you two knock it off?” Yuri shouted from the other side of the ice rink, after watching Mr. Infinite Stamina himself tackle a very exhausted Viktor to the ice. The annoyance was clear in his tone, even when the couple started to profusely giggle while they lied down on each other. He let out a groan, feeling a vibration on his hip.

_Beka._

He would have to check it later, but right then he had to focus on his routine. He decided to focus on other music that did more than emphasize that he was the embodiment of elegance on the ice. Granted, ballet was what he did best, but he had to branch out of his comfort zone and try other forms of skating. Welcome to the Madness helped start shed the image of a “fairy” that he had, and his goal was to be so different and unpredictable that not even Viktor Nikiforov could compete. The only problem was that Yakov wasn’t too keen on the idea.

 

**********************************************************************

**THE OFFICIAL PROGRAM OF YURI PLISETSKY, 2017-2018**

**SP: Plus Je T’embrasse – Quartet Jazz Manouche Ft. Bianca Gallice**

**FS: Luminous – Max Richter**

**********************************************************************

He was shocked that he found a jazz song he actually fell in love with. Perhaps it was the lyrics being in French – adding that much class to an already old-fashioned type of music. Either way, he may have liked jazz and never had a problem with swing music, but when it came on his Spotify radio, he knew had to skate to it.

Yuri wanted to veer off of what he did last season – he originally wanted to do the tango, but Lilia refused because it was “too sexual” for a sixteen-year-old; he was lucky he managed to pry Plus Je T'embrasse out of Lilia, considering she wanted him to do something along the lines of Tchaikovsky, but she finally gave in when she remembered ballet could easily be incorporated into Plus Je T’embrasse since Yuri would be dancing the Swing – but when it came to his free skate, he was stuck.

 

**********************************************************************

**THE IRONY OF ALL IRONIES:**

**Yuri had no inspiration.**

**********************************************************************

 

Yakov had never been so damn pressing. Luminous was going to be his song that allowed him to keep that ballerina signature he had been branded with, but it also allowed him to tell a story with his body, something he wasn’t quite able to do in previous seasons. However, beautiful as it was, and no matter how moving the piece was, he couldn’t think of a story.

_Storytelling can suck my ass._

Yuri knew that the story had to be beautiful, enticing, captivating – practically every ounce of emotion he had in his body had to be reflected in his program. He just couldn’t think of choreography for it, and he didn’t want to have someone else choreograph it this time. Thankfully he was focusing on his short program at the moment and didn’t have to start worrying about his free skate until next week (after much pleading and promising that he would have at least a rough idea for choreography done by then). However, next week was creeping up much quicker than anticipated, and he had done nothing to prepare.

_I can probably ask Otabek for suggestions,_ he thought.

Otabek may not be able to execute the movements as well as Yuri could, but that didn’t stop him from having vivid ideas that he would sometimes send to the Russian at random intervals – typically they were ideas that he knew he could never pull off, so he would share them with his friend in hopes to see them executed one day.

Yet, no idea has ever topped one that came to Yuri’s mind that he wanted to do – he had seen it once, in a dream, and he had theories on how he could land this jump, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t dangerous. He had decided on pushing the jump to a later season just so that way he would have more time to practice it; but the jump wouldn’t leave him alone, replaying in his head over and over again as if it were screaming at him to do it right now.

It was just so beautiful.

Until then he had to figure out every other movement in his choreography to convey this story he had to think on practically overnight. All exaggerations aside, Yuri was supposed to have started working on the choreography for his free skate two weeks ago – meaning that everybody knew he had to work overtime to where his routine wouldn’t be sloppy, and it would have to be a miracle for him to work out every finite detail about the piece until it was finally mastered.

Yuri remembered he managed to pull off his exhibition skate within only a few short practices, but it was also something he was passionate about and had pictured in his head over and over again so that it could be easily rehearsed and perfected on the ice. With Luminous, he was so stuck he didn’t even know where to begin.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

“Your mother called.”

Yuri’s jaw stopped moving in mid-chew, his body frozen in place as his eyes trail up across the breakfast bar to look his grandfather in the eyes. There they paused, the brief moment of silence drifting through their ears with weight, the glaze over his iris revealing he was being serious. With a deep breath, he slowly let out one final clench of the jaw and swallowed his food, staring back down at his plate for just a moment before resuming as if the sentence had never been said.

“She wants to schedule a visit.”

“That’s nice,” Yuri didn’t look up, cutting a section from his eggs and eating it with a bite of sausage. His voice was cold and calculating, the lack of inflection in the chords gave enough emotion that was needed to convey his tone.

“Yuri,” Nikolai started, but quickly ended when his grandson looked back up to him. He sighed, not saying another word and turning to his own plate. He couldn’t necessarily blame the boy, after all. For all he knew, if that were his mother then he probably would feel the same way.

The sounds of quiet clinking and even quieter eating echoed for what felt like thirty years. It was only thirty seconds – at maximum.

“I’m sorry, Grandpa. I know she’s still your daughter.”

They didn’t say anything more. They didn’t know if they even could say anything more. The guilt started to devour at Yuri when Nikolai just nodded, pretending that she wasn’t. Fuck, he was going to have to do it again. The things he did for his grandfather – the things he was _willing_ to do – and he couldn’t stop himself from going through hell if it meant keeping the man from cracking.

She still was his daughter, and it must have been heartbreaking for things to turn out this way. Yet, a part of him wished that his mother would just die – it would be easier to move on. It would be easier to hide behind pain of loss rather than the pain of what she’s done, what she’s become.

What he has to face.

Yuri kept his head hung low, his voice quiet and his breaking shaky. He had to face it.

“…When?”

There was something about the Skype calling music that became more and more irritating the more often he heard it. It was catchy, but it became the annoying kind of catchy _quickly –_ like the kind of commercials that get stuck in one’s head after having the unlucky fate of having to listen to it over and over again.

Yuri waited, being unfortunate enough to listen to the ringing for over a minute, until it finally stopped and he heard the distinct clicking and cutting voices that came with the connection.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, but I can’t see you.”

“Gimme a sec.”

Clicking around, a final connection, two screens, a short lived “yay” that was masked as either sarcasm or disinterest. There were some chuckles, too, thrown in for good measure. Yuri adjusted his screen accordingly to where he can lay down and still talk to his friend, while Otabek didn’t even budge.

It’s always the first subject that’s the hardest to get the ball rolling – something that would allow them to just start talking and trailing off onto other subjects and not stop until the sun would trickle into the bedrooms of Kazakhstan. They wouldn’t last to that point, however; the Russian would always fall asleep sometime in the middle of the call.

Time zones: they really fucking suck.

“Did you hear the piece I sent you?” Yuri asked with a sigh, his laughs calming down after some funny story that happened with Otabek that day.

“I did, actually,” he replied, reaching across his desk to grab a small notepad and flipped open to a page where he had taken a few notes while listening to the piece. “It’s unique. It’s not like it’s Agape where it’s clearly about love, this has other emotions incorporated in it which makes it all the harder to do.”

“I could have pointed that out,” Yuri chuckled. “I was just really lost on where to go and how to interpret it. I don’t even know where to begin.”

Otabek shot him a look through the cameras, before letting out a playful _tsk_ and returning to the notepad. “I’ve managed to narrow it down where it starts innocent and carefree, then it moves onto something loving and heartfelt, building until it breaks into something … heartbreaking. That’s when it just stops and carries for just a moment before stopping altogether. It just cuts off.”

“Well that’s a start,” Yuri mumbled, even though he had most of these ideas down already, but not with those kind of emotions behind it. “I have to tell a story with my body about this one.”

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you skate anyway?”

“I conveyed emotions, not a story.”

“Fair enough.”

Otabek looked back to his notes, various story ideas he could run past his best friend and a few moves that would be absolutely _perfect_ in the skate. He knew some ideas were just spur of the moment creations, while there were some stories that probably would stick if Yuri could get ideas based on it.

“Alright,” Yuri breathed out carefully as he adjusted his position so that he could write a few ideas before his inevitable unconsciousness slips over. “Throw them at me.”

Some ideas were easily garbage, either because they couldn’t be easily translated on the ice or simply because it sounded good in theory and as the idea was being spoken, the confidence behind the idea would deplete before Otabek would just stop, fur his brow together and scribble it out, moving onto the next idea as if it never came to mind.

Then there was one.

“Alright, innocent and carefree – that’s childhood, most likely a childhood friendship. Loving and heartfelt – clearly, falling in love and being in love; they probably fell in love with their friend. Then the heartbreak – either rejection or death. But based on the way it just cuts off at the end, it suggests that it’s a mixture of the two. Like, the love interest leaves for someone else, then dies, cut off like how Death cuts off Life,” Otabek by this point was rambling, not even paying attention to the Russian’s intrigued reactions.

“Or what if, the person in love kills them self?”

“That’s awfully fucking dark, Yura.”

“As if the close friend rejecting for someone else and dying wasn’t dark enough?”

Otabek just grinned and shook his head.

Yuri yawned, looking through the ideas, laying back down and nodding slowly. “I’ll think on that one. It probably will be what I’m going with, or some variant of it…thanks, Beka.”

The Kazakh just nods with a small smile. They continued to talk about other things – even planning a future meeting in St. Petersburg – until it reached to the point to where Yuri had his eyes closed, humming slightly from time to time to indicate he was listening. It was then when Otabek paused for just a few minutes, waiting and _knowing_ that doing so would cause the Russian to slip under, not having to think about trying to pay attention.

It was only three minutes passed when Otabek gently called out for Yuri, not receiving a response at all. Practice must have been brutal on the boy.

That’s when the Kazakh took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair as he did and kept his eyes on the Russian three hours behind him sleeping so peacefully. He watched as his chest would slowly rise and fall, as his fingers curled just slightly as they lied there, listening to the soft breathing and the calmness about the boy while he wasn’t awake. A few strands fell in front of his face, covering the eyes and across his mouth.

Otabek’s arm gently reached forward and touched his screen, picturing being there to push the locks behind the blond’s ear, his thumb stroking across his cheek as he would do so. His fingertips softly rested on the boy’s face for a few moments, before taking one last deep breath – one last deep look – and then closing down Skype altogether.

 

**********************************************************************

**SOMETHING OTABEK KNEW FROM THE START:**

**He was in love with Yuri Plisetsky.**

**********************************************************************


	2. Echoic Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language  
> SONGS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: Various megamixes and mashups, “HEAVEN” by Troye Sivan, “Bad Dream” by Ruelle  
> Sorry that this took forever guys I went through a huge block with my writing – I lost the Best Writer senior superlative to someone else, and this someone else was the one that made the voting form, so it’s suspicious enough as is. Then I found out they edited the votes in their favour and I can’t argue because she’s the teacher’s favourite and so I was stuck. Either way, it made me feel like shit and I couldn’t look at my writing for a long time without feeling like it was pointless to write because it’ll never be good enough and all the credit would just go to someone else instead. I would write a sentence, hate it, then delete it – I had a blank document for a week. I know one of you asked if there was going to be a rough schedule and I want to try and make it consistent, but I’m not sure right now because I graduate this month and things only get busier this summer. Once I get started in university everything should be dwindled down to a regular schedule hopefully. Let’s not forget how my laptop literally noped out and stopped working until I had to get a new one so there was that. Anyways, it’s here, so I hope you guys enjoy it. Thank you for reading!  
> -Elena

**********************************************************************

**CIRCLED IN THE CALENDAR:**

**January 26 th, 2017**

**********************************************************************

Yuri didn’t expect a text from Otabek when he first woke up saying that he bought tickets to fly to St. Petersburg for the weekend. He’d be coming down late Thursday after practice, staying for three days and leaving early Monday morning. Thursday was in two days.

Yuri’s mind raced what they could do while they were together for that weekend; he had a few ideas, but they were all clichéd and mundane and he was tired of doing activities outside of skating that mimicked being grey. Outside of the events themselves, there was no glamour to life as an athlete, at least to _his_ life as an athlete. Everything was grey and exhausting, painfully coated in a breathless sheet of sweat – outside of the blisters and bruises for decoration, being an athlete wasn’t pretty; pretty was reserved for the costumes worn only a handful of times.

Grey. Everything was grey.

The walls, the bedsheets, the streets, the ice beneath his feet – all of it was grey. Shades of it, of course; he’d often try to bring in bursts of purple to pop some colour, but over time that would fade into grey, too.

All the colours eventually did.

 

** [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/35570942423/in/dateposted-public/) **

 

“I told you not to come.”

Yuri just shrugged, fiddling with an eye shadow brush in the palette and swatching it on his arm, thinking of various colours and looks he could go for – glancing at his laptop screen from time to time to watch a tutorial or browse random girls’ Pinterest boards. “Doesn’t change that now, does it? Looks like Mr. Hero of Kazakhstan is a bit of a bad boy, now isn’t he?”

Otabek paused, looking back at his friend, noting the costume hanging behind him. “You plan to perform this entire piece with just the jacket on?”

“I told Yakov I would have a tank top on, but I have yet to find one that matches the aesthetic,” he said swiftly, finishing another look on his arm and showing his competitor, “how’s this one?”

“You do realise it’s tomorrow, right?”

“Oops,” Yuri rolled his eyes, the lack of care in his tone indicated that he had probably been planning to ‘forget’ the tank top the whole time. Normally, the Kazakh wouldn’t have cared about this kind of thing, but considering the boy’s coach and reputation, it was probably best to work against his intentions just once – at least until they’re close enough to where he could ‘forget’ too.

“Wait here,” Otabek instructed simply, leaving Yuri’s hotel room and returning a couple minutes later with a couple of shirts. “Here’s a few throwaways, do what you want with them.”

Yuri’s eyes looked up at Otabek, his gaze piercing as he growled, looking through the shirts, “you’re the worst, Beka.”

“I do my best.”

Yuri paused when he saw one of the shirts, lightweight and could easily be passed off as a tank top if he cut into it. He wanted to cut into the shirt and slice it to shreds across his body, but didn’t want to mess with the cross on the front; it helped with the overall aesthetic of the costume. “Do you have a pocketknife or something?”

Otabek nodded, digging in his pocket and tossing the object to the Russian. The object slipped from his finger and crashed on the floor, rolling across the hardwood until it slammed to a stop against the frame of the hotel bed. Yuri looked back to his friend with an eyebrow raised, his look completely encompassing his distaste in the Kazakh’s throwing skills.

“My bad,” Otabek mumbled.

Yuri reached over and grabbed the pocketknife, flipping out the blade and immediately slicing off the sleeves. He flipped the shirt over and went to work on cutting open sections in the back, and he was careful not to cut his fingers. When he was finished, he tossed the collapsible back to Otabek without looking and held up the modified tank top next to his costume.

_Perfect._

 

** [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36379087615/in/dateposted-public/) **

 

“Mariska, get _down._ ”

The cat looked at him with wide eyes, then she continued to walk along his dresser as if he didn’t say anything at all. That little shit – Potya just watched the younger cat calmly, taking his time to sit and curl up into a ball on Yuri’s bed. Potya was technically his grandfather’s cat, but once he moved in with Nikolai the cat because just as much his own as Mariska was.

Potya had already lived his life – age nineteen and too old to be a wildcard anymore. However, Mariska was significantly younger, only seven years old and she had more liveliness to her – and it was her life mission to drive Yuri absolutely _insane._

“ _Down,_ Mariska!”

She flicked her tail, knocking over a frame as he raised her nose into the air. Mariska reached the end of the dresser, then leapt off onto his desk, walking all over his papers and his laptop. That little _shit_ –

“Mariska,” Yuri hissed, snapping his fingers as Potya just yawned. Finally, she leapt off his desk and strolled over to her owner, rubbing her head between his ankles. He only sighed, picking her up in his arms and holding her still so he could easily put her in the carrier. He opened the carrier next to her, and with gentle tsks from his tongue, Potya gracefully stood and walked into his carrier without any resistance.

 

**********************************************************************

**LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER:**

**Yuri was just as much of a little shit.**

**********************************************************************

 

Taking a breath of relief, Yuri made sure both cage doors were locked and he took them by the handles out of his room and to his grandfather’s car. He buckled them into the back before he himself climbed into the front passenger side. “They all set?” Nikolai asked as the boy buckled his seatbelt, nodding as he did.

“He’s looking worse.”

“He’s old, Yuratchka, it’s expected,” his grandpa breathed out, already accepting the fate of his cat. If anything, he was surprised that Potya could live this long already. It made Yuri wonder how long Mariska would have if she lived the same way her unofficial brother did. The boy sat with his knees against the dashboard, his feet dangling as he pulled out his phone to check his Twitter, noticing that Otabek had made a new tweet – not a common occurrence, but at least he was more active about his social media presence than the Katsudon was.

 **Otabek Altin**  
@otabek-altin  
**if ur dad is shit I’m ur new dad now**  
**1/25/17, 4:15 PM**  
**47 Retweets                119 Likes**

Yuri couldn’t help but giggle slightly at the tweet, pressing the like button when he read it. He wondered what could have been the story behind said tweet, but he decided that it was probably best to live and let live when it comes to Otabek’s posts on social media.

“What’s funny?” Nikolai asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth when he heard the sound come from his grandson.

Yuri just shook his head, “nothing, Grandpa. Otabek just said something funny, that’s all.”

The grandfather only let out a hum in response, turning the wheel that put them on the road to the vet. Potya let out a groan.

“I’ve never heard you talk about anything as much as you talk about Otabek,” Nikolai paused, before continuing with an eyebrow raised. “You said he’s coming up here tomorrow, right?”

The teen nodded, sitting up in his seat and putting his phone back in his pocket when he noticed the parking lot in his peripherals. Yuri remembered something else he had to do tomorrow, and his voice became bitter. “He’d have to come after he finishes practice, so it’ll be late when he comes in.”

Nikolai knew exactly where the change in tone came from, but he didn’t bring it up. It was probably better that he didn’t think about it to begin with.

“Did she tell you the location of it, what time and how long it was going to be?” He asked, turning into the parking space with ease. “So that I know when and where to pick you up?”

“Coffeemania at two in the afternoon,” Yuri said without batting an eye, the next words rolling off the tongue so eagerly. “She asked for a couple of hours, I’m going to bail at three.”

His grandfather made a face, not exactly okay with the idea of ditching, knowing that he doesn’t even get off work until five. What would he even be doing until then? Yuri seemed to pick up on Nikolai’s discomfort, because he continued to talk about what he planned to do that day. “And then I was going to go home and Skype Otabek if he isn’t on the plane already.”

He nodded as he turned off the car, sitting for a moment before taking a deep breath without any particular emotion behind it. “How does Pirozhki sound for dinner tomorrow?”

“Perfect.” – well, _fucking_ perfect, but Yuri had more respect than to swear around his grandfather.

Nikolai always made Pirozhki whenever his grandson went to those visits. They always seemed to help him. “Alright then, Yurochka,” he sighed as he opened the door and started to get out, “get the cats.”

When he took them both out of the car in their carriers, he chuckled to himself and lifted the carriers high into the air as he walked, quietly singing the introduction to “Circle of Life” until he made it through the doors.

 

** [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36210895692/in/dateposted-public/) **

 

Yakov didn’t measure his skaters based on their successes or improvement, he based them on a level of “pain in the ass;” and in this case, Viktor and Yuri were at the same ranking.

_This fucking kid!_

“Yuri, what the hell was that?!” Yakov shouted at the top of his lungs as the boy pushed himself up off the ice. “You always land that jump _flawlessly_!”

“Well it’s not flawless if I have a flaw now,” Yuri grumbled as he wiped the ice shavings off his outfit, some of the flakes sticking to his fingerless gloves, the white stark against the black cloth.

Yakov looked as though he was about to rip Yuri a new one, before Viktor intervened, skating between the two of them, “don’t be too harsh on him, Yakov, it’s his senior debut. You know how stressful that is.”

Oh look, the first words he said all week that didn’t once mention the banquet or that drunk Japanese guy there. Neither of them mentioned it, knowing that if they did he would most certainly go right back to moping about how he _felt_ something, Yakov, he _felt_ something. Yuri felt something, too, fucking annoyed.

Then again, neither were honestly complaining whenever he talked about that boy. Neither of them had seen the man so happy about something in his life, or inspired. He was _on_ to something with Eros, but he didn’t feel right skating it.

 

**********************************************************************

**THE TIME EROS FELT RIGHT:**

**When he wasn’t the one skating to it.**

**********************************************************************

 

“Just go practice your quads, Viktor.”

The skater sighted woefully, turning on heel and gliding back to his spot to where he could practice.

“Yurochka,” Yakov said, this time his tone different than before. Yuri turned his head back to face his coach, a slightly cocked eyebrow and his tongue prodding at his cheek from the inside of his mouth, creating a bump in his cheek. “Are you stressed?”

“No.”

“Are you scared?”

“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“If I was, why would I tell you?”

Yakov just nodded, muttering _fair enough_ under his breath, before just shaking his head and gesturing for him to get back onto the ice and try again. “Take it easy, Yurochka.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

* * *

 

This was the last place Yuri wanted to be. Hell, he’d rather be back at the rink with Viktor and Katsudon groping each other on the ice than right here. _Anywhere_ but here. He tapped his fingers, earbuds in, staring at his coffee at the table while his leg bounced up and down; he hoped, _prayed,_ that she forgot about it.

In the corner of his eye, he saw a lanky woman with coarse, thin hair that matched his shade – perhaps a little lighter now – walk to him and stand at his side. She waited a moment, before saying the boy’s name.

“I’m not getting up, Natasha,” Yuri said bluntly, not even sparing her a glance. The woman sighed, walking to the other side of the table, placing her coffee down and sitting across from him. It was once she remained seated for a few moments when _finally_ her son dared to look up from his glass, not even tilting his head, the all too familiar look of ‘eat shit and die’ screaming from his eyes.

She looked worse.

“I saw you win gold,” She smiled, and seeing Yuri raise his eyebrow slightly was about the most response she was going to get out of him for that statement. “Congratulations.”

He nodded once, rolling his eyes and prodding the inside of his cheek with his tongue again. “Thanks.” He glanced down at his fingers, noticing a little strip of skin that was sticking upright on the side of his nail. He lifted the finger to his mouth and bit off the loose skin between his teeth, separating it to make his finger smoother.

“That’s a nasty habit,” Natasha scolded.

Yuri’s eyes shot up without turning his head, giving her a look as sharp as daggers, the tone in his voice nasty, as if he was spitting out the worst food he dared to allow touch his tongue. “I think you’re the last person to talk to me about ‘habits,’ _Natasha_.”

Twist the dagger a little more, Yuri.

She pursed her lips together, looking down into her coffee quietly, and taking and audible deep breath. When he spoke again, she winced, the question repeated at every visit is just as cold as the times he’s asked it before.

“How long have you been clean, Natasha?”

“Six weeks.”

“The truth this time.”

She closed her eyes, furring her brow together and hanging her head. “It would have been six weeks.”

Yuri didn’t ask. Instead he just rolled his eyes and shook his head, “what else did I expect, honestly?” he mumbled, but it was loud enough for her to hear, and he knew that she could hear him. “I mean, it’s coming from you.”

“I’m sorry, Yuroch–”

“–Yuri. My name is Yuri, and that’s the only way you’ll refer to me.”

Natasha kept her head low, eyes averting his cold gaze, before she finally gathered the courage to test the waters once again. “You’re right. I don’t deserve to call you anything other than the name I gave you, because I’m a piece of shit and an even worse mother.”

“That’s exactly right,” Yuri snapped back without any inflection in his voice, not even hesitating to throw those words at her. She winced, not expecting her attempt at manipulation to backfire on her, but she should have known better. The boy’s not exactly five years old anymore, fifteen year olds are a lot harder to control, especially if they’re raised up to be Yuri fucking Plisetsky.

“Why do you come, then, if you hate me so much?” It was a miracle, somehow, that she didn’t ask him this sooner. Was she that oblivious or stupid? Or perhaps she knew all along, and maybe she just didn’t start to care until now.

Yuri turned to face her completely, staring at her with narrow eyes until Natasha had no choice other than to make eye contact with him. She wore that same, fake martyr look she always put on whenever she acted like a victim. She looked pathetic.

“Because I, unlike you, actually give a shit about making Grandpa happy.”

 

** [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36379087245/in/dateposted-public/) **

 

Yuri was four years old when he learned that love doesn’t exist.

It was a simple conversation with his mother that went sour really quickly in the living room. He was playing pretend with some of his toys on the floor and talking to himself while his mother watched with a look on her face that looked like a mixture of anger and disgust. Yuri noticed this look, and solemnly made sure to keep his voice lowered, since that’s what he thought caused her face to be that way. She eventually turned her head to read something she saw in the paper.

One of the characters he was playing with had just gotten married to a beautiful wife with a drinking problem and messed with needles too much, “just like Mama,” much to her distaste.

“Mama, I can’t wait to fall in love,” little Yuri said finally, running the wooden car along the carpet as the newlyweds drove to their new home.

“There’s no such thing as love,” the woman said finally, her words cold and unflinching as the boy stopped what he was doing and looking to her with an eyebrow raised in both curiosity and hurt. She didn’t even turn her head to speak to him.

He paused before getting angry with what she said and he stood to his feet, being only about eighty centimetres. His bony frame with chubby cheeks made him like a bobblehead, and with a pout carved into his mouth he spoke, “yes there is.”

“No there isn’t!” His mother shouted, her head now snapping in his direction and staring him straight in the eyes. He jumped at her voice raising, and she continued anyway. “If it was real, then your father would be here.”

Yuri didn’t understand. Papa was dead.

“He’s not here, isn’t he? Exactly,” she scoffed, turning back to the paper, mumbling under her breath but loud enough for her son to hear. “It’s your fault, too.”

There rang a moment of silence, where the boy had absolutely no idea what to do or what to think. He turned back to his toys, but unable to look at the newlyweds the same anymore, he just gathered them up and threw them away in the toybox where they would rot for the rest of time, and then walked to his room.

Yuri learned three things that day, all in the span of five seconds:

  1. Papa wasn’t dead.
  2. He left, and it was Yuri’s fault.
  3. Love doesn’t exist.



It never did.

 

** [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36379087725/in/dateposted-public/) **

** [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/35570942523/in/dateposted-public/) **

** [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/35570942213/in/dateposted-public/) **

 

Airports always made Yuri restless. It was conditioned in him since he was young that an airport was the last place to sit still, more hustle and bustle in one location than any city put together. He had this constant thought of _go, go, go!_ in his head that he couldn’t shake away so easily, especially if he was sitting in the middle of all the action while everyone else rushed around him.

Still, he waited, until he finally saw people leaving the terminal with their carry-ons, some chatting amongst each other and some walking alone. His eyes scanned each person that walked alone, until he saw who he was looking for.

“Otabek!” he shouted, sparking the Kazakh’s attention to have him look around until he found Yuri. A smile cracked on his face, before giving him a brief, second-long hug. Something natural, but he didn’t want to make the boy uncomfortable for being in one too long – he didn’t know all his limits, after all.

“Hey, Yura.” Otabek’s voice was smooth and gentle, like honey pouring quietly into tea. He looked at the Russian’s face and chuckled slightly, using his finger to gesture it in a circular motion. “You look tired.”

“It’s only two in the morning, you know,” Yuri laughed. He gestured to the downstairs area where luggage was being dispatched.

 

**********************************************************************

**JUST AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT:**

**Otabek’s suitcase was stolen.**

**********************************************************************

 

Otabek made sure to tell a very pissed off and ranting Yuri that thankfully there was nothing of value in the suitcase, it was all just clothes and cologne that could easily be replaced. It helped Yuri keep from snapping someone’s head off, so that was a plus, but it most certainly didn’t stop him from raising hell until they got to a cab.

“Yuri, I promise you, it’s fine.”

“Who the fuck do these people think they are, to just walk up and steal someone else’s bag?”

“Maybe they didn’t know it was mine. There was an extra suitcase left behind that looked similar to mine, so it might have been a mismatch.”

“ _That’s what the nametags are for!_ ”

“Yes, I know, but as I said all the stuff in there is replaceable. All my pricey things were in my carry-on and I have that with me.”

“But those asshats still–”

“– _Yura._ ”

Otabek’s voice carried a specific emphasis on it, as if he was asserting dominance to try and settle the situation before the hothead could escalate. Yuri pursed his lips together before he huffed, lumping back in the taxi seat with his arms crossed, watching the lights glare past him as they drove down the road.

“Sorry,” he muttered out with a pout. “About all this.”

Otabek shook his head with a smile, “Don’t worry about it.”

“I just want you to have fun while you’re visiting and it’s already off to a _great_ start–”

“Yura,” he interrupted again. He took a deep breath before patting his leg. “I don’t need to have my clothes to have a good time.”

There was a pause, where Yuri just looked to his best friend, trying to repress a snort and pursing his lips together to keep from smiling. That is, until Otabek caught on with the subtext of what he said and let out a simple sigh of “oh my god, Yuri,” and a chuckle, inviting the other to start howling uncontrollably.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Yuri!” Beka laughed, reaching over to playfully punch him in the chest, which only increased Yuri’s fit to the point to where his sides hurt. He leaned back as he chuckled, resting half his forehead on his fingers as he watched his friend completely losing it. That sound was enough to cure cancer, to stop the world for just a few moments, to make Otabek smile.

“You walked right into that one!” Yuri yelled, trying to wipe the tears in his eyes in between snickers. He took a few deep breaths with a large grin, trying to calm himself, giggling every so often as he did. “Christ, Beka, I didn’t know that was your intention when you said you were visiting. At least take me out to dinner first.”

He groaned with a smile on his face, leaning his head back and dragging his hands across his face. “You’re not gonna let me live this one down for a while, aren’t you?”

“Hey,” Yuri shrugged playfully and then nudged his friend, giggling. “It’s a good time.”

Did Otabek groan again or did he laugh? Yuri honestly couldn’t tell. As they pulled into the driveway, Yuri made sure to tip the cab driver and thanking him as he and his best friend walked up to their front door.

“Grandpa’s asleep, and I’m probably gonna hit the hay once you’re settled in the guest room. I’m in the room next to you, so keep that in mind if you need anything,” Yuri’s voice got quiet as he unlocked the front door and stepping in. “We’re going to have to head to St. Petersburg in the morning so at least try to rest your eyes. Other than that, make yourself at home, the fridge is open to you and so is the pantry and you’re welcome to watch any of the shitty soap operas that Grandpa loves.”

Otabek nodded at his instructions as he was lead up to his room and settled in. With a yawning goodnight and a curt wave, Yuri walked to his room, where it was easy for him to just crash on his bed the moment his body came into contact with it.

It had been about a half hour of tossing and turning in the room next door before finally Otabek sat up with a sigh, quietly stepping out of his room and peeking into Yuri’s, checking on how the boy slept. He slept curled up in a foetal position, his hair in front of his eyes once again with that same peaceful expression that looked so beautiful on his calm and relaxed face.

Taking a deep breath, Otabek quietly stepped inside, looking at the boy once more and his arm reached out to move his hair from his face – _finally,_ after wanting to for so long – but he paused. His arm stopped when his hand was hovering gently over Yuri’s face, and he clenched his hand into a soft fist, retracting his arm and refraining.

Yuri let out a soft hum while he slept, and Otabek watched. His eyes stayed locked on his sleeping friend for just a few moments longer, before he turned and walked out, back into his bedroom that he couldn’t sleep in at night.

 

**********************************************************************

**BECAUSE LIFE IS A SADIST:**

**He was still in love with Yuri Plisetsky.**

**********************************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks again to the lovely @yoi-trash-blog on Tumblr for being my beta once again, and I really thank you guys for all your love and support and I can't wait to write more!!  
> -Elena


	3. Law of Proximity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language, moments of SHOOK™  
> SONGS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: Various  
> So, I was in in New York! It’s going to be a miracle for me to get this chapter out at a decent timely manner because it was such a busy time and I can’t even begin to even. Plus, I met Brendon Urie!!! I was so happy I cried it was just so aahhhhh that on top of just coming back from my Ball State orientation it made me so so excited to go to university next month. Anyways, thank you for your patience and I hope you all enjoyed it!! Thank you for reading!!  
> -Elena

**********************************************************************

**ESTIMATED ARRIVAL AT ST. PETERSBURG:**

**One hour.**

**********************************************************************

Due to the theft of his luggage, Otabek had to try and find anything he could fit into, but Nikolai was a Good Samaritan in giving him some of his own clothes. Clearly, they made him look old, but whatever works. Not to mention it wasn’t the most out-of-place thing he’s seen somebody wear on the train, so everything was fine. Yuri had slept through most of the ride there, and at around the one-hour mark he woke up, as if it was clockwork.

“Can you lift, uh…” Otabek started to ask before Yuri drowsily looked up to meet eyes with his friend, their noses touching, before he quickly shot his head up off of his friend’s chest, apologising profusely for falling asleep on it. “No, no, it’s fine, I wasn’t talking about that,” he gestured to the bag around his foot that belonged to someone else. It was tangled around his ankle, and with a rise of his leg the strap came off and the man next to them spoke a quick thanks and took the bag and placed it on the other side of him.

Transport rides like this were always the same: long, awkward, boring in practically every possible way. It was a miracle Yuri hasn’t already died of absolute madness after spending a collective total of at least six years on some kind of transportation system.

By the time the train reached its destination, Yuri was starving. Both of the boys were sore and they really could go for something to eat at the moment, and they all but agreed that after they got to Lilia’s house they probably should go somewhere. When they arrived, it seemed, that Yuri had forgot to mention he was bringing Otabek along.

“What is this?” She asked sharply, gesturing to her student’s friend.

“My luggage from Kazakhstan,” Yuri shrugged. “It’s only for a couple days tops.”

Lilia narrowed her eyes, before gesturing to the rooms behind her that lead to the living room. “I don’t have a guest room for him.”

Yuri turned back to face her, confused. “You do too have a guest room.”

“I don’t have a guest room _for him_ ,” she repeated, her emphasis implying company coming while Otabek would be visiting, or them already being there. How fucking wonderful.

The Russian groaned softly at the idea of someone coming, since his tolerance for other people was pushed enough already, the last thing he wanted to deal with was another someone that pissed him off by breathing. He turned to his friend. “You’re not weirded out about sharing beds, are you?”

Otabek chuckled softly, almost like a scoff, shaking his head with a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m a middle child with just under a thousand cousins. I’m not allowed to be weirded out about sharing beds.”

“Solved, then.”

 

**********************************************************************

**THE NAME OF THE CAFÉ:**

**The Coffeeshop Company.**

**********************************************************************

 

It was something to get them some food to tide them over until dinner in a couple hours, mainly someplace for them to mindlessly snack on something and talk to each other in an atmosphere that _wasn’t_ the metro or Lilia’s house.

St. Petersburg was never above spreading gossip within little crooks and corners of the city; the murmurs and the mumbles all melted into a conglomerate of exposure, of a lack of empathy for anyone regardless of their superstition. Even when Otabek and Yuri walked into the café, voices only whistled in delight at every possibility imaginable as to why the great Ice Tiger of Russia was tamed into a kitten around the Hero of Kazakhstan.

“Let’s just get our shit and get out,” Yuri fumed, plopping himself by the window and watching as Otabek sat himself down across from him with a little more caution. They waited to speak to each other until after their orders were taken and the waitress left them alone.

“St. Petersburg is really nice,” Otabek spoke softly, almost awkwardly as he tried to make small talk. Yuri seemed to pick up on that, and he changed the subject as quickly as it came. Thankfully, one of them was bold enough to just leap into another conversation like that. Small talk was always such a damn chore.

“What’s your favourite band?”

Contrasting was always Yuri’s forte.

“The Arctic Monkeys,” Otabek replied after thinking on it for a moment. “What’s yours?”

“Fall Out Boy,” Yuri’s response rolled off his tongue, but he didn’t linger on it too much because he didn’t know if his best friend was part of Cringe Culture and would roll his eyes at his music taste for being too ‘edgy wannabe’ as Viktor put it. He continued to speak as if he didn’t respond at all. “I’ve never heard of the Arctic Monkeys.”

“I’m sure you have and just didn’t know it was them. They had a song on the radio for a while a couple years ago.” Otabek took out his phone and plugged in his headphones, handing Yuri one of the buds as he took the other. “It’s most peoples’ first exposure to the band.”

_Do I wanna know?_

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard this,” Yuri nodded, remembering that he thought it was a cool song before Nikolai switched the channel and mumbled under his breath about how this generation was killing good music. “Which one is your favourite of theirs?”

Otabek thought, then he shook his head. “I like a lot. I can’t pick just one,” he switched the song to something else, “this is just one of them.”

Yuri listened to the lyrics for a moment before their eyes met; the words making him wonder why Otabek chose that song in particular. What does it mean? Dark eyes wandered down to pink lips and then back up to meet green again. Breath could be felt on each other’s skin and they stared for a moment, and for a split second, Otabek was sure that Yuri read his mind and knew everything. Yet, why did they feel like they were getting closer? Almost as if–

“Yurio!”

Their heads snapped apart and towards the source of the call. Behind the window, Viktor was holding a bag of groceries and Yuuri followed close behind with a wave and warm smile. If Yuri felt like convulsing inwards from the name, he most certainly wanted to after being rudely interrupted.

“Why don’t you come by for dinner tonight? We’re making–oh, Otabek! It’s good to see you!” When Otabek waved back shyly, Viktor continued to speak. “If you can’t make it, that’s alright! We’re sure to have leftovers and you can visit tomorrow.”

“I’ll have to check with Lilia,” Yuri leaned back in his seat and hoped that the conversation would end right there.

“Oh, no need, I’ll just call her! Come on, you two–”

“–But we ordered–”

“–No time to lose, Yurio!” Viktor cheered happily and it left the two boys no choice but to stand up and just walk out. Yuri wasn’t complaining too much, anything to get him out of the gossip he was hearing left and right.

And so they left, walking right out the door and pretending they didn’t see the waitress walking to their table and keeping the food for herself and taking the tip they left along with it. The lyrics were still echoing in Yuri’s head, almost as if it was a universal message his best friend was trying to tell him. Something he always wanted to say.

_Secrets I have held in my heart_

_Are harder to hide than I thought._

_Maybe I just wanna be yours,_

_I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours._

**Yuri Plisetsky**

@yuri_plisetsky

**otabek just told me the story of his first kiss and i feel like vomiting on behalf of him**

**1/28/17, 3:06 AM**

**67 Retweets                189 Likes**

 

There were such nights when nobody could sleep, but nobody was opposed to talking to each other either, and in those nights, two skaters would leap bounds in their friendship. Late night talks until the sun would rise was always a favourite pastime, and Yuri would be damned if he said otherwise.

“That sounds awful,” Yuri laughed, staring at the ceiling. He felt the pressure in the bed shift a bit, as if Otabek had turned to look at him.

“What about you?” He asked in a tone that mimicked: _if I’m going down, you’re going down with me_. “What was your first kiss like?”

Yuri went quiet for a moment, sighing before he finally admitted, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“Never?”

“Never,” he repeated. He would find himself having a lot of Nevers in his life. One of them was about to be erased, completely. Never had I ever – soon, he had.

They paused for a couple minutes, a small weight spread across the bed they shared, the blankets they fought for in equal amounts, in the _ideas._ The best times, Yuri would come to learn, would come from the craziest ideas, ones that ironically, were Otabek’s, except for twice. Only twice, out of the hundreds of the fantastical adventures of Otabek Altin and Yuri fucking Plisetsky, Yuri would be the one to speak first. The second time would come in three years. However, the first time?

Now.

Thank god, he spoke first. Otabek would never, but he _knew._ Connections of ideas in close proximity were always uncanny in resemblance; yet, this idea was completely identical.

“How about you kiss me?”

Otabek’s mouth went dry, his heart short circuiting and he just wanted to throw his brain out the window. The weight felt heavier, and _fuck if he wasn’t in love with Yuri before–_

“Come again?” he had to ask.

“Forget about it,” Yuri turned his body, his back facing Otabek before his Kazakh friend sat up and rolled him back around, giving him a look that wouldn’t let him escape the question he was asked. He groaned, blush rushing across his cheeks that was barely illuminated by the moonlight peeking from the blinds. “You know, so that way I can have my first kiss and you can have your first kiss that isn’t being sucked by a Hoover Vacuum. Two birds with one stone, or whatever the hell it is. I was just spitting out ideas, don’t think on it too much. There was nothing behind it.”

The look in Yuri’s eyes said that he wasn’t lying. There was nothing behind it, something purely platonic – business professional, even. Despite the sinking in Otabek’s heart, he pushed past it anyway, just for the sole purpose, just for the sight _chance_ –

“I can kiss you if you want.”

If Yuri wasn’t red in the face enough. The forces in his body behaved before his words, and he pushed a jerky nod to the Kazakh leaning above him, who discovered his newest talent was being really good at hiding the fact he pretty much couldn’t breathe.

There was a silence that was a little too long, one where the two of them didn’t say anything, and they didn’t do anything either; they just stared at each other, questioning if, holy shit, _is this really happening?_

Finally, Otabek brought an unnoticeably trembling hand to his best friend’s face, cradling it on one side, his other hand balancing himself on the other side of the boy’s body that remained lied down. His thumb traced down to his chin, gently pulling his lips apart. Oh, he was skipping a peck and going straight for a lock. Got it.

Their breaths touched before their lips did, softness against a smooth kind of dry. Otabek’s touch was nothing short of tender, his eyes closing while Yuri’s remained wide awake. They parted once, before Otabek so boldly brought their lips back together, pinching the lock with his lips just slightly, and Yuri reciprocated – his mind, no, his mind and heart…his _everything_ was in a whirlwind. He had been picked up, and thrown into the air, everything and everything spinning around and around and around–

They parted, shallowly heavy breaths were buried, tried to be kept quiet from sounding like panting, because fucking hell were they breathless. Yuri, this boy Otabek had loved since he was small, _asked him to kiss him_ , and they _did._ He only wished that feelings were reciprocated.

“Ask me again.” Yuri breathed out quietly.

“What?”

“Ask me the question again,” he repeated.

It took Otabek a moment, but once he understood what was being said, he swallowed hard, nodding as he sat up. “What about you?” He asked in a tone that mimicked: _if I’m going down, you’re going down with me_. “What was your first kiss like?”

Yuri went quiet for a moment, smiling at the ceiling before turning to face the Kazakh, before he finally admitted, “it was good.” There was a chuckle, it almost sounded like an exhale if one didn't pay attention enough. “It was really good.”

 

**********************************************************************

**FOR A SPLIT SECOND:**

**Yuri almost fell in love.**

**********************************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT WAS THE SHOOK™   
> But really, I'm so sorry this took so long and THANK YOU so much for being patient and understanding with me. I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading!  
> -Elena


	4. Internalization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language, spoilers for The Book Thief, brief depictions of child abuse (skip from the text about “Suki” to the “DO NOT REPLY” text if you want to override that).  
> SONGS/ARTISTS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: Max Richter, “Sorry” by Seinabo Sey, and classic Silent Hill and Resident Evil video game music because it’s haLLOWEEN TIME BITCHES  
> Guess what happened??? *Plankton voice* I WENT TO COLLEGE! That’s right, as of Friday, August 18th, 2017, I am now a student at Ball State University! If you’re part of the Cardinal fam, I’m a journalism major, so maybe come say hi! I’m most of the time shoving my face with food and looking for a good Hookup on Tinder so…. Plus my father died so that was a big roadblock I’m so sorry. Anyways, thank you for being patient with me and this chapter and I hope you enjoy it! Quick little note I want you guys to enjoy: THE IPHONE TEXT GENERATOR ALLOWS ME TO PERSONALIZE BATTERY LIFE AND BARS AND OTHER SHIT NOW HELL YEAH I’M HAPPY AND YOU SHOULD BE TOO. Okay I’m done enjoy the chapter I hope.  
> -Elena

**********************************************************************

**IT WAS THE WORST DAY IN THE WORLD:**

**Valentine’s Day.**

**********************************************************************

Yuri, much to nobody’s surprise, hated romance. He labelled himself as an aromantic shortly before his senior debut, so needless to say he hated his short program just a little bit more until he found meaning behind it. He remembered back in 2016 when it was announced he tweeted that he wanted to “drink bleach.” But now that it was actually Valentine’s Day and all the Yuri’s Angels were sending him valentines and early 2000’s demotivational poster style memes about his free skate, cyanide seemed like a better option.

And now that he was forced to be in the same vicinity as Viktor and Yuuri on the day of gross people doing gross shit, cyanide seemed like a _very_ tempting option.

“Yuuri! Yuuri!” Viktor said, “How do I tell you that you’re my Valentine in Japanese?”

“Yuuri! Teach me how to say: ‘you are the lighthouse in my sea!’”

“Yuuri!! This _is_ important! I want to learn how to speak like a lover in Japanese. Show me how to speak like a lover in Japanese!”

“Yuuri, Yuuri! Are there any special kisses that you do in Japan? What are the habits of a typical Japanese love life?”

It went like that _forever._

Yuri was too damn close to losing his shit, and it was clear that so was Yakov. Just as he thought it wasn’t going to get worse, he was suddenly seized by the wrist and then drug over to the other end of the rink to where Katsudon was.

There was the typical screaming and cursing that Yuri did as he scratched at Viktor to get him to let go, but he made him stand in place and then looked at him with an intense excitement. “I just remembered, you both have the same name!”

“No fucking shit,” Yuri huffed, about to skate off, but Viktor pushed him back and then took his hand. His free hand leaned over and grabbed onto his fiancé’s hand as well. Standing in between them, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, suddenly going silent with a wide smile on his face. That’s when the Russian knew what he was doing.

Katsudon looked around Viktor with a confused look and asked Yuri, as if he knew. “What’s he doing?” His voice was a hushed whisper, like if he spoke any louder it would somehow lead to a negative outcome.

“It’s a Russian thing,” Yuri sighed and just accepted his fate. “You stand in-between two people with the same name and make a wish.”

Yuuri hummed with an intonation of interest – intrigued by what he was told, and then looked back to Viktor. What really shocked Yuri was that Viktor was never really the superstitious one. Sure, there were some quirks, but he never was too concerned about making sure the first person in their new house was an old man or a cat or anything meticulous like that.

“So you only believe in things that benefit you, Viktor?” Yuri laughed under his breath, and he felt the older Russian nudge him with his elbow as a way to tell him to shut up. “Just saying.”

When the wish was finished, Viktor let go, and then promptly went right back to cooing over Yuuri. But before Yuri could skate off and tell him to fuck himself under his breath, he overheard the exact reason why he loved different languages.

“Yuuri! How do I say that I love you in Japanese?” Viktor had his heart mouth again, that nasty thing, and on a day where hearts were everywhere? Disgusting.

Katsudon blushed, smiling softly before he spoke in a calming and smooth voice. _“Suki,”_ he said.

The Russians stopped in their tracks, looking at each other and the reactions happened at the exact same time because they _knew._ Viktor’s face flushed a deep shade of red from embarrassment, and that’s when Yuri snorted, trying to contain himself by covering his mouth before finally erupting into laughter.

“What, is it how I said it?” Yuuri questioned, which only made his fiancé groan and the unofficial teenage son laugh just a little bit louder. When he remained confused, that’s when Viktor finally sighed and walked over and whispered what he that word meant in Russian into the Japanese man’s ear, by this point Yuri was making a scene of it. He noticed Mila covering her mouth as she snickered.

Yuri turned back to the couple, then throwing both of his middle fingers up into the air as he laughed and shouted, “Happy Valentine’s Day, _bitches!”_

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36829630950/in/dateposted-public/)

His budding hatred for February 14th began when he was four, when he visited his Grandpa after a long while of not being allowed to. The love and disgusting ideals of romance added to it later. While they coloured together, he casually asked if Mama had still been using needles. Yuri nodded, and even went as far as to volunteer the information about random men coming over to the house to give her “her shots.” The child didn’t see anything wrong with it, it was just a casual part of his life that he thought everybody his age was having.

That night when Mama came to pick him up, Grandpa got into an argument with her. He remembered that she had screamed at him that she should have never let Yuri come, and that he was never allowed back to Nikolai’s house ever again. Of course, this caused the boy to start crying, and it didn’t help when Natasha promptly seized him by the ear and then dragged him out of the house, locking him in the car and going back inside. When she came back out, Nikolai was yelling at her from the porch – the only time he had ever seen his grandfather angry – and when she got into the car, she sped off and screamed at her son the whole way back home. When they got home, she yanked him like a ragdoll, tossed him into his closet and locking the door and leaving him until he passed out in there.

Yuri didn’t know that he did anything wrong, other than coming to visit Grandpa. As much as it hurt him, he didn’t want to get in trouble again, so he didn’t ask to go back.

The February 12th of the following year, when Yuri was five, Grandpa picked him up from his novice skating classes, much to his excitement. This time, he never asked about the shots; instead, Yuri announced it like a casual update of the weather.

The next day he was visited with authorities at kindergarten. They asked him if Yuri was lying about the things he had said to Nikolai, and he said no, because of a simple reason: “Lying is bad and Momma said she’d beat me with a stick if I was bad.”

On Valentine’s Day, Natasha Plisetsky was arrested and her son was forcibly removed from the home. He never had to ask Mama if he could see his Grandpa, because he was never going to live with his mother ever again.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36829631240/in/dateposted-public/)

 “What’s with you?” Yuri asked, fumbling with black nail polish for the first time. He had seen a woman on the bus do this cheetah print design on her nails and he wanted to replicate it. His strew of different brushes and paints were scattered around his desk and the paint was starting to stick to the wood. Nothing was working. “It’s the worst day of the entire year and I thought you of all people would be miserable with me, not...whatever mood you’re in.”

“I’m just in a good mood. I’m allowed to have those, you know,” Otabek gave him a look and then chuckled. “I had a good day today, that’s all.” He reached offscreen, trying to reach for something before he gave up with a sigh and forced himself to stand. When he couldn’t reach even then, he groaned again and walked around the camera.

“What’d you do? It really had to be a lot to make Valentine’s Day a ‘good day.’” There was a small pause. “Son of a fuck,” Yuri hissed. He had messed up outlining the black on the animal print. They were just about the ugliest nails he had ever seen.

Otabek spoke offscreen at a distance, and his voice grew closer as he walked back into frame and then sat down. “It’s something my DJ friends and I do every year. We make voodoo dolls on Valentine’s Day and we burn them. It’s really fun.”

Yuri’s head snapped up and gave his best friend the weirdest look he could muster. “What the fuck, Otabek?”

The Kazakh laughed loudly at that. “It was simple fun.”

“It sounds like simple witchcraft.”

“Tomato tomato.”

Yuri chuckled to himself and shook his head as he went back to his nails. He fucked up another print again and his ‘profanity to any other word’ ratio started to have a wider gap. He took the cloth pad and – for the third time – furiously scrubbed off the nail polish on his nails. He attempted one last time, but this time, he just painted them all black, so that way he had that cool edge to him all while being simple enough for it to be literally impossible to fail.

“What do you have against Valentine’s Day anyway? Is it just because you’re single and you’re reminded how we’re all going to die alone in the universe and the chance of divorce is fifty percent or are you just grossed out by PDA?”

“Yes,” was all Yuri said in response as he put a matte top coat on top of the black – the perfect edge. Any reason that he had to hate Valentine’s Day, he used as his excuse, and the fact that some people see literally nothing wrong with a commercialised holiday specifically meant to promote chocolate and diamond sales while hiding behind the façade of a made-up concept that doesn’t exist is repulsive.

Otabek just hummed in response with a slight eyeroll. He understood bitterness, but he never understood complete hatred. “I’ll find a way to change that for you,” he mumbled nonchalantly, just loud enough for the microphone to pick it up.

“How so, by being my boyfriend?” Yuri scoffed, blowing on his nails. He didn’t realise that he isn’t allowed to touch anything with his hands until they’re cured, which could take anywhere from three hours to three years.

Beka felt his heart leap in his chest. The idea of it was something he had been dreaming about for a long time, and he’d be lying if his heart wasn’t screaming at him, reminding him of long lonely nights where he’d close his eyes and suddenly be kissing his best friend again.

 

**********************************************************************

**PLAY IT COOL:**

**“If that’s what you want, Yura.”**

**********************************************************************

 

At the rate Yuri was heading with how little progress his free skate was making, he wasn’t sure he’d be lucky enough to make it to the podium of the GPF. Especially with Viktor coming back and Katsudon working harder than ever so that way they could get married.

_Motherfucking Viktor fucking Nikiforov and his fucking fucked ideas fuck._

It’s common for Lilia to bring home flowers for the centrepiece of the kitchen table so there’s something pretty to look at while they eat, and this time she was a little too excited for spring coming up around the corner. Lilacs were the star of this evening, blossoming out of the vase as if the roots were implanted into the glass.

After dinner, Yuri found himself holding the vase of lilacs in his lap, carefully examining each and every little flower to count the petals.

Four.

Four.

Four.

Four.

Oh, a five!

Wait, that was just tangled with another. It’s two fours.

_Fuck._

Yuri had sat there for hours, fingers gently parting the stems and making a mental note of how many petals were connected together. He only made it through two of the five branches before Yakov came in screaming at him about how he stayed up way past his bedtime and needed to go to sleep.

“Hey, Yakov, did you know in America they don’t look in lilacs, they look in clovers?” Yuri spoke coolly, still browsing the petals as if he was going to listen to his coach the first time he was told to do something.

“That’s an Irish tradition, you fool,” his coach grumbled as he took the vase from his hand and then pointed to the stairs, “go to bed.”

“I need luck.”

“Real athletes don’t need luck. They need skill, which you have,” Yakov set the vase on the counter for the time being until his athlete sighed and stood up and made his way to the stairs. Before he got up the first step, that’s when he made his final point.

_“Don’t go wasting your wish on a gold medal, Yura.”_

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36829631140/in/dateposted-public/)

It’s not like Yuri hated interviews, he just hated the people _behind_ the interviews. With their perfectly pretty prim posture and their clicking teeth behind their words, the stupid shorthand scribbles of a ballpoint pen and the uninterested fake nature of the interviewers did nothing to fix the overall disgrace that was modern journalism.

What’s worse, with his status of being the youngest to ever win the Grand Prix Final, and on his first try of all times, he would be wrapped up with these god forsaken journalists for at least the whole season until the next Grand Prix is over – lord help him if he wins or loses this year.

Yuri managed to be patient enough to withstand other people touching his head and face to do his makeup for the cameras, but the moment the interviewer walks in with the obviously plastic smile on her face and an annoying unnatural tone, he knew it would be a miracle if he managed to keep his cool on live television.

“Hello, Mr. Plisetsky,” she greeted him and extended her arm out, clicking her tongue before she would speak again. “I’m Aisha Petrov, pleasure to meet you.”

Yuri just hummed in response and sat down where he was supposed to. He wasn’t going to be rude, but he wasn’t going to go out of his way to be polite either. She ran her tongue along her teeth and clicked it loudly to make a dramatic point of “you just pissed me off” before she sat down across from him.

“How’s your day been, Mr. Plisetsky?” Her tone was a little sterner. What a dramatic ass.

“My name is Yuri,” Yuri matched her tone to get her to purse her lips and stop with her melodramatic bullshit, “and I’m doing just fine.”

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36412933953/in/dateposted-public/)

It was a regular occurrence at this rate. Katsudon and Yuri would meet at Coffeemania every week – just the two of them – and they would just talk. Whether it be help with homework, advice with life and skating, or discussing a book that they decided to read. It was an unofficial club of just the two of them; a club that nobody else was invited to, that nobody else was allowed to join.

Yuri’s favourite club meetings was once a month or every couple weeks, when they’d just finished a book together and then had to talk about it. They typically would read books in English to improve their skills in the language, but once Yuuri was fluent enough in Russian – everyone in the rink was teaching him – he’d start to read books written in Russian instead.

 

**********************************************************************

**THE NAME OF THIS MONTH’S BOOK:**

**The Book Thief.**

**********************************************************************

 

Yuri would never say it around anyone else, but he really enjoyed these times where it was just him and Yuuri, even if they were just talking about something they read all month. These kind of interactions Yuri used to dream about when he was younger, but once he actually got to know the Katsudon his silly schoolboy crush disintegrated and he felt…comfortable. There was no pressure there, no need to act a certain way or put on his best clothes because at this point, his skating idol was the father he never had.

“I won’t lie, this book made me cry,” Yuuri laughed, after they just finished gushing about how great the book was, yet also simple enough of a read that children could read it in primary school. “Viktor came in and just saw me ugly sobbing and didn’t question it once he noticed I was just reading.”

“No offense, but I didn’t know that you could pretty cry,” Yuri snickered to himself. When the man across from him gave him the look, he giggled again and then continued on. “Honestly though, what hurt the most was that Liesel didn’t kiss Rudy until he was dead.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow at him with a soft grin. “I thought you didn’t like love, Yuri.”

“They were _kids,_ god damn it,” Yuri felt a lump in his throat and swallowed it down. _It’s just a book, Yuri. What the fuck._ He would always have a soft spot for children, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud, even if he hated them. “He was trying to kiss her throughout the whole book and she only kisses him when he was _bombed_.”

Katsudon just took a deep breath and tsked with his tongue. “Sadly enough, that’s how it is in real life, too. You never know what you have until it’s gone.”

For some reason, an image of Otabek flashed in his mind.

“But I think the best part about the book is that Markus Zusak perfectly captures realism. Everything feels relatable to something we’ve had in our own lives, no matter the age, and no matter what background you come from this book hits close to home for you.” Here it was again, when Yuuri would get extremely passionate about a particular topic about a book. Yuri ordered a small coffee cake, he was going to be here a while. “Like the scene when Liesel is drinking champagne–”

“Quite the flashbacks, weren’t they?” Yuri teased.

“Oh hush. Not that. But it reminded me of when I was fifteen and Mari snuck a cocktail into my room for my birthday and we drank it together.” He smiled fondly, as if it was one of the best memories. “Have you had anything like that? It doesn’t have to be alcohol related either. Just anything. With your grandpa or with your dad or–?”

“My father’s dead,” Yuri said simply. He wasn’t.

Yuuri pursed his lips together awkwardly, then he promptly started to apologise over and over about it, the younger boy across him just shaking his head about it. It’s not like he ever met the man. Yuri answered his question anyway with a “no, actually. Never.” His whole life had been devoted to skating, after all.

There was a moment of silence, and then Yuuri ordered two cocktails.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36412934043/in/dateposted-public/)

Yuri wasn’t one to easily cry. He just wasn’t. He had built up a wall after years of neglect and abuse and being trained from the start to never trust anyone, not even his own family. Not even if they had been in his life ever since he was small and proven to him that he could trust them. Not even when they’re dead.

But the moment Yuri found out about his mother remarrying and starting a new family of her own, he wept. He floated up into his room and slammed the door and cried, curled in himself with his knees to his chest and his face in a pillow until his lips went red and he couldn’t inhale anymore.

How dare she?

How could she live with herself enough to have another child after she threw her only one away? Who gave her the right to start over as a mother without ever being good enough for the first one? Where did he go wrong as a son to be abandoned? Why couldn’t he have a mom, the one thing he always wanted?

How dare she?

As far as he knew, Grandpa cut off contact with her out of anger and complete shame for his daughter. He had told Yuri that if she failed once as a mother, she would do it again with this new child, and they felt sorry for the new baby, but apparently, they were both wrong.

The picture Yuri saw on Facebook showed not only that she was clean, and the new son was happy, healthy – but he had just turned six years old.

He made it longer than Yuri had, with a father and a loving mother that he had never seen out of Natasha before.

It was late at night when the child finally gave in and called his best friend. He wasn’t going to call Viktor, because he would _know._ But Otabek? He didn’t know shit, which was ideal. He didn’t know a damn thing, but he knew exactly what to say to get his mind off it for the time being.

Yuri almost mistyped, his fingers trembling against a wet touch screen; the ringing in his ears sounded a million miles away until he heard an exhausted and groggy “hello?” from the other end of the line.

“O-Otabek,” Yuri’s voice shook as he sobbed, and it was at that moment he could feel the Kazakh sit up and suddenly click the light on.

“Yuri, what’s wrong?” Otabek asked, his voice more alert now, ready to listen and talk for the rest of the night if he needed to.

“I-I don’t,” he swallowed hard and shook his head. “Just talk to me. Say anything, anything. I don’t care, just get me to think about something else.”

There was a pause, and he was expecting his friend to pry and continue to question anyways, but instead, the response was a worried and gentle-hearted “okay” from the other line.

And so they talked. They talked about the upcoming season and the weather, the sheets on their beds and jokes that would make them laugh until their cheeks hurt and there was a gnawing at their sides. They rambled about how they prefer their coffees and teas and what it was like growing up with or without siblings, where their favourite place to skate was and how many times they fall during practice. It wasn’t until Yuri started to flick away the sleep in his eyes and yawn when he realised that he was exhausted, the thought of Natasha far away in his mind. And even so, they still talked.

“I’m going to bed now,” Yuri announced softly as he laid down, pulling up the charger by his nightstand to prepare to plug in his phone once he hangs up. “Goodnight, Otabek.”

“Goodnight Yuri, and hey,” there was a pause and Yuri stayed on the line, waiting for the next sentence to be said. It came a little later than expected. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll happily do this again, whenever you need to. However long you need it to.”

He thought on it for a moment and took a deep breath, before smiling softly and nodding. “I will. Same to you, Beka.”

“Goodnight Yura.”

With a lighter heart in his chest and a heavier breath in his lungs, Yuri plugged in his phone and set it on the nightstand, tucking himself in and closing his eyes. He didn’t know how long they were closed until he felt himself reaching for the phone again to have the final word on something he completely forgot to speak.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36829630840/in/dateposted-public/)

 

**********************************************************************

**LIKE A TOE IN COLD WATER:**

**Yuri was falling.**

**********************************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry that the last little bit of the chapter was pretty heavy subject-wise, I wrote this after I got back from my father’s wake and I have a lot of anger to him because he wasn’t my dad. He was a dad to someone else and left me and my sisters to rot. But thankfully, I have a Dad, and I’m changing my last name to match my stepdad and my mom because he’s my dad, and I love him and I talk to him all the time. My father has been dead to me long before he finally, literally died. In a way, I wrote Natasha to resemble my father, give or take some aspects of course, but the way Yuri feels about her in the end is the same way I feel about Michael – the man I unfortunately have to call my birth father. My father may have been my father, but he most certainly wasn’t a dad. While, my stepdad wasn’t my father, but he most certainly is my Dad. Sorry I’m rambling, but writing this last bit after crying about it to my Dad for a while was very relieving, and so I hope the emotions transferred well from my heart to the screen.   
> Once again, thank you guys so much for reading this and I hope you enjoyed it.   
> -Elena


	5. Reinforcement Contingency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language, “Roll Credits”  
> SONGS/ARTISTS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: My String Theory Spotify playlist (https://open.spotify.com/user/twijill/playlist/5SQXD7BbTbuim05reBK9kf)! I’ll update it as I go on.  
> It’s not a figure skating anime without figure skating so thankfully Worlds was in March-April of 2017 so I included it in this chapter that may be my weakest link of the chapter my apologies.  
> -Elena

**********************************************************************

**THE NEW AGE:**

**16.**

**********************************************************************

America, for some reason, was obsessed with the idea that 16 was going to be the magical, all-is-perfect age, when in reality, it was just setting the blank stage for an all-out clusterfuck for twelve consecutive months until 17 came around. Yuri hoped that annual reoccurrence didn’t immigrate its way over to Russia, because the last thing he needed was his season to be rebranded as: Shitshow!!! On Ice™.

Yuri showed up to practice on his birthday, despite his coach telling him to take it easy today and have fun because this was a day that only came once a year. Still, he came anyway. After all, he had to train for the new season coming up. Unfortunately, in competitions he was still skating to Agape since the 2016-2017 season wasn’t over yet, but he had been practicing for the new season after he won gold at the Grand Prix Final. It’s something Yakov and Viktor have both scolded and warned him about, telling him to wait until it was closer to the end of the season to start training with the programs he chose, but he ignored them and continued anyway. Once he had Worlds in the bag he wasn’t going to pay much attention to his old program anymore.

But before he could glide onto the ice to practice for the day, he found a hand grab him by the back of his collar and pull him back. Yuri turned, about to punch the asshole who decided it would be a good idea to touch him, only to see that it was Yuuri instead. Damn. He didn’t think that such a little guy would have the strength to pick him up like that.

“What the hell do you want, piggy?”

“There’s a movie.”

Yuri looked at him, confused, thinking that he was going to try and tell him to get off the ice like his coach or other rinkmates would; he didn’t expect this instead. Yuuri Katsuki: always full of surprises. “What?” he asked.

“The Book Thief. There’s a movie.” It took Yuri a second, then he hummed softly, wondering why Yuuri wanted to tell him that, before the man continued. “Do you want to watch it?”

“When?”

“Tonight. We can watch it while Viktor goes out to get some things if you don’t want him around.”

Yuri thought for a moment, before he decided to nod and agree to the plans that night. It’s not like he had anything planned for his birthday. He thought at most a trip to his favourite place to eat or something, but he didn’t care if it happened or not.

“Sounds fine to me.”

With a curt nod, the Russian turned and stepped onto the ice again, about to fly along his home, before he was picked up and pulled back again.

“AlsoYakovandViktortoldmeyou’renotallowedtoskatetoday.”

_“You son of a bitch!”_

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36829630900/in/dateposted-public/)

Yuri always felt a little uncomfortable when it was March 1st, but when his best friend made a quick phone call just for the sake of telling him happy birthday, he couldn’t help but feel a little more comfortable.

“If everything goes smoothly, your present should be there by today or tomorrow.” Otabek said casually on the other side of the line. That meant he had to mail it out early, possibly even paying extra to have it sent by a specific time.

“Don’t buy me shit,” Yuri groaned.

“Too late.”

Yuri sighed softly before he simply sat back down on the bench, watching the skaters on the ice glide around longingly. “Hey, you know what would be a completely good and free present you could give me?”

A hum came on the other end with rising intonation. Then he continued, “if you could convince Yakov to let me skate. He and Viktor are insisting I take the day off for my birthday.”

Otabek thought for a moment, before he asked, “when was the last time you took a day off, Yuri?”

Yuri paused. “Last week.”

“Honesty, please.”

He paused longer, then he sighed again. “Last month.”

Otabek’s gasp and complete shock was audible on the other side. This boy had been training every single day, for nine hours a day, without a day off for at least a month. That’s not including the fact that he probably is doing a shit ton of off-ice training too. “ _Jesus Christ,_ Yuri. That’s awful on your body, do you realise that?”

“I’m skating against Viktor fucking Nikiforov and Yuuri fucking Katsuki. Do you realise _that_?”

“Yuri, we’re _all_ skating against Viktor fucking Nikiforov and Yuuri fucking Katsuki.” Yuri went quiet on the other line, before he heard the man on the other line just take a deep breath. “You need a damn week off, Yuri. You’re killing yourself at this rate. You do realise that overworking yourself is just as bad as underworking, right?”

“I can take a lot.”

“You’re still growing. And right now, your body is about to go through some major changes that’ll royally fuck you up if you aren’t treating it right; please, just take care of yourself.”

Yuri thought about it for a moment, watching them on the ice for a moment before he also took a deep breath and just sighed, frustrated at the fact that his best friend was right but it was going against everything he was working for. But then he remembered what he was told.

 _We’re_ all _skating against Viktor fucking Nikiforov and Yuuri fucking Katsuki._

“Okay,” he gave in.

There was a soft sigh of relief on the other end, before there was a faint voice on the other line that was clearly at a distance. “Thank you. My coach is calling for me, so I gotta let you go. But skype me when you get your package. I want to see you open it.”

“I will.”

“Awesome. Bye, Yuri, and happy birthday.”

And with that, three beeps rang in his ears, before there was nothing on the other line at all.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36829630880/in/dateposted-public/)

The first time Yuri was asked if he was in love, he was seven. There was a girl that he fancied in his class and he couldn’t help himself but smile whenever she was around. Nikolai had noticed how whenever he’d ask how school was going, he’d always somehow bring Darya into the conversation.

“Do you like Darya?” He asked his grandson casually one day. They were sat at the breakfast bar, colouring pages in hand and a box of crayons in the middle. Sat across from each other, this was their prime way of bonding while Yuri was a child.

“Yeah,” the boy replied as he coloured, not really taking it into thought. “She’s a good friend.”

Nikolai didn’t push it, knowing that he was too innocent and none the wiser. He wasn’t going to push that onto a seven-year-old. Yuri never saw her again after he became homeschooled. He does see her show up on his social media feeds every so often, and he always feels a little lighter knowing that she’s doing well. He recently she saw that she won a public speaking competition at her high school, and the former classmate never felt so proud.

Over time, Nikolai had seen Yuri’s go-to conversation topic evolve and adapt to what he was currently in love with. When he had come back home for a visit after winning gold at the Junior Grand Prix Final, all he ever talked about was skating.

“Do you like skating?” he asked, sitting across from the breakfast bar with nothing on the table. Colouring wasn’t a common practice anymore.

“It’s my life’s work,” the twelve-year-old responded the same way a middle-aged man would. Yuri knew what he meant. “Of course I do.”

But here recently, he noticed, the subject had changed again. After calling him and chatting over tea, Nikolai saw the change go from something to someone. He had wished his grandson a happy birthday, they talked about what he should get the boy for his birthday (to which he replied with “nothing but more years of your life, Grandpa.”), and he kept track of how many times the Kazakh’s name was said on the other line.

“Do you like Otabek?” he asked, sitting at his usual spot on the breakfast bar and taking a sip of chai. Yuri wasn’t across him, but he could feel him there doing the same thing.

There was a pause, before the skater smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s my best friend.”

 

**********************************************************************

**NIKOLAI DIDN’T PUSH IT:**

**Yuri knew what he meant.**

**********************************************************************

 

Viktor and Yuuri insisted that they make Yuri’s favourite while he was visiting since it was his birthday. Yuri didn’t like being pampered, but then he remembered that this was Viktor fucking Nikiforov who probably had more money than Jesus, so he didn’t care if his official main source of “pain in the ass” gave him nice things.

He couldn’t help but notice the blood drain from Viktor’s face when he said Katsudon Pirozhki.

“Do you not know how to make Pirozhki?” Yuri asked.

“Hardly,” Viktor confessed, but then he pulled out his phone and waved it off. “Your grandfather still has the same number, right?”

“Should be.”

Then he was waved over to Yuuri as he walked out the front door to go fetch the things he needed for the dish. The Japanese man just smiled and took him to the couch once he saw that he drove off safely. “Do you still want to watch the movie?” he asked, turning back to Yuri, who had since grown a little more comfortable now that it was just the two of them.

“But won’t Viktor be back in the middle of it?”

Yuuri chuckled and shook his head. “He’s just like my sister. He’ll go to the store to get something basic, like eggs or something, and then he’ll see something he wants, and then something else, until before he knows it, he spent a small fortune and completely forgot to get the eggs. He’ll make a few trips, it’ll take a few hours.”

Yuri couldn’t help himself from snickering at that was he watched Yuuri pull up the movie on the TV, streaming it since they didn’t have a DVD player. There was a pause, while commercials played, before Yuri asked. “What’s it like, being a brother?”

The man paused for a moment and thought carefully about his words. “Well, there’s the good, and there’s the bad, and there’s days where you’ll help them hide the body, and other days where you want to hide _their_ body.”

“Don’t beat around the bush, pig.”

He waited, until finally, he smiled. “It’s wonderful.”

“I wish I had one,” Yuri confessed with a breath. It was awful lonely being the only child all the time, and the one brother that he did have was with a woman that abandoned him. It still hurt.

The response came quick. “You do have one. You just missed him. He went out to get things in order to make Katsudon Pirozhki for someone’s sixteenth birthday.”

Yuri felt his heart stop and a tear in his eye, but he wiped it away quickly when he saw the Katsudon smiling at him. “Let’s…let’s just watch the movie.” He said quietly as his eyes turned back to the screen.

For a moment, things were silent – a black screen falling on green eyes – until finally, the piano played; until finally, something clicked in the skater. Something finally made sense.

But he stayed quiet, watching the entirety of the film and only needing to reach for the tissues towards the end. He only needed one, thankfully. If he needed more he would have been screwed – Katsudon might have gone through a whole box on his own. But when the end came, that same piano played at the credits, and he couldn’t help himself but feeling a plethora of emotion and inspiration from this piece.

Only then, did he finally speak.

“I’m allowed to change my short program, right?” Yuri asked softly. “Since the season hasn’t started yet?”

“I mean, you can,” Yuuri asked. “Why, do you want to change it to something from the Book Thief?”

He just nodded, the piece playing in his head over and over again. Luminous was connected with it somehow, but he couldn’t understand how. He had never struggled so hard coming up with a theme for his season, and right now he felt that he had it right at the tip of his tongue, trying to get the words out into something he could swallow and say. _That_ was when it hit him.

_String Theory._

It’s the theory that everything is connected. The theory of everything. The theory that while they are connected to everything on earth, they are also connected to everything off earth – the theory that means they are also connected to death.

And suddenly, the melody makes sense.

It was that word in the back of his mind he couldn’t quite describe, the something missing in his formula to get that result he wanted. It was in the String Theory, telling two different stories, but they are still connected by being on the same earth, by being connected to the same death. They tell their own stories, all while being the exact same one, connected by a string.

_Yuri, you’re a fucking genius._

Granted, by accident, but still a genius.

“Yeah, I’ll have to have Otabek play around with a couple of songs to make the overall melody, but I want The Book Thief as my short program,” Yuri finally replied with his words.

“It is beautiful music,” Yuuri thought out loud, before he playfully nudged the boy next to him. “I think it makes a better short program than the French song.”

Yuri smiled to himself, before he found the link to the soundtrack and sent it to Otabek with the text: _Edit something. This is going to be my short program,_ attached to it.

 

**********************************************************************

**THE NEW OFFICIAL, REVISED PROGRAM OF YURI PLISETSKY, 2017-2018:**

**SP: The Book Thief – Composed by John Williams, Arranged by Otabek Altin**

**FS: Luminous – Max Richter.**

**********************************************************************

 

Worlds was in a week, and Yuri couldn’t have been more petrified. He wasn’t scared of it before, but now there was a whole new factor that came into play when he found out this determined if he was eligible for the _Olympics._ Already there was talk of it, so he couldn’t help himself from feeling pressure, but now that there was actual pressure on his chest from it being so close, he couldn’t stop that pressure from converting into fear.

Viktor had been an Olympian a few times, but after Yuri’s record-breaking performance at the Grand Prix Final and the fact he wasn’t in the 2016-2017 season, that meant there was a high chance he was going to be selected in the legend’s place.

Talk about just a little bit of pressure.

This would be one of the last times Yuri was skating to Agape, which made him excited. He was eager to officially begin his new season and skate to something he wants to skate to instead of relying on something Viktor picked out.

He heard the piece Otabek arranged, noticing he used elements of “The Book Thief,” “Journey to Himmel Street,” and “Learning to Write” in the arrangement. It was beautiful and he couldn’t help himself but feel tingles every time he heard the melody. He was excited to train to it, feeling lighter than air to the piano that played.

This time, with Agape, he couldn’t help himself but feel a little lighter when he rehearsed it. He didn’t quite feel the same, and he didn’t notice a change until he heard a ringing silence when he finished.

“So, who is it?” Viktor asked, watching the boy glide to the side to skate a few cooldown laps before Yuuri came into the centre and began to practice Eros.

“What are you talking about?” Yuri scowled as he tried to skate past, but Viktor grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and pulled him back so he could talk to him on the other side of the wall.

“Who’s your _lapushka_?” He grinned, like a schoolyard bully teasing a little girl who had scribbled her crush’s name into a notebook with squiggle lines and hearts all around it.

“Nobody, you fucking dolt,” Yuri skated off again, but this time too quick for the pain in the ass to grab his collar again. It confused him, how was it so different that suddenly the loverboy seemed to know Yuri had a crush on someone? Did he even _have_ a crush on someone? Hell no. But somehow, he knew.

He could hear Yuuri finish his short program, and that was when he moved to the centre so that he could practice his free skate, the question ringing in his head, with a word he had only heard once in his life.

_Who’s your darling?_

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36412933713/in/dateposted-public/)

Helsinki was cold. There was no surprise to that, it was fucking Finland, but what Yuri wasn’t prepared for was the biting wind that would cut through his lungs and take his breath away. See, he was fine with the cold in Russia, but there was something about the cold in other climates that either meant “lukewarm” or “the waters of the polar ice caps themselves.”

So needless to say, this was kinda freezing.

Even in his hotel room, Yuri was finding himself rubbing his fingers and turning up the volume in order to get some heat in his system. But then, after getting ready to go out to the nearest coffee shop, he got a text from Otabek.

**> >I’m done unpacking. What floor are you on?**

Yuri felt his heart flip, and he smiled. He just sent a reply telling him to meet in the lobby so they can go out to get some food together. He was starving on top of freezing. It didn’t take long after Yuri got into the elevator before Otabek joined him on the 4th floor stop.

“Damn, you’re at a distance,” Yuri laughed softly as he hugged Otabek. It felt refreshing to see him again. Homely. “I’m on floor 39.”

Otabek let out a breath in a certain way to express _damn_ without saying it. There was a pause, before they pulled apart. “Good to see you,” he said with a smile, and then the elevator door opened to let them loose into the world. As they walked, Otabek noticed the shirt his best friend was wearing, and smirked. “I see you’re wearing the cat shirt I got you.”

“It’s awesome fashion,” Yuri chuckled simply, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets once they got outside into the cold.

“I’m glad you like it,” It made Otabek feel warm to see it, and to say that in response.

“I love it.”

Both of their hearts skipped a beat right then. Only Otabek acknowledged it to himself.

Otabek guided the two of them to his motorbike, which was parked outside the hotel and in its own space.

“Do you have that shipped everywhere you go?” Yuri laughed, nudging his friend with his elbow.

“Yes, yes I do.”

 

**********************************************************************

**THE NEXT VIRAL YURI’S ANGELS PHOTO:**

**Captioned: Otayuri!!!**

**********************************************************************

****

Once again, Yuri found himself panicking to Otabek. Except, this time, it was in person, in costume, and in the locker room.

Yuuri Katsuki was in first place.

“Don’t worry about Katsuki. Don’t pay attention to the scores,” Otabek kept repeating, holding a mildly hyperventilating Yuri by his shoulders and making sure that he doesn’t freak out too hard. “Your short program went better, and he’s already done with his free skate.”

“Did you _see_ that jump though? Did you see the height?”

“Nobody’s going to remember that. They’re going to remember how once again, Yuri Plisetsky rightfully earned a gold medal, and had worked his way into first place.”

_Yuri Plisetsky!_

“You’re gold, Yura. Now go get them, Tiger.”

And just like that, Yuri Plisetsky didn’t remember a thing. He didn’t remember stepping away and out onto the ice. He didn’t remember performing his free skate with a fluidity and elegant passion. He didn’t remember getting off the ice to a roaring crowd. He did, however, remember one thing apart from the gold hanging around his neck.

The score difference grew shorter.

Otabek stood by his side with bronze, and he pat his back since taking his hand would look too obvious of the intentions. But the thought was processed, transferred from one head to the other, sharing the collective thought.

_We’re all skating against Viktor fucking Nikiforov and Yuuri fucking Katsuki._

Yuri received his invitation for the Olympics a week later.

 

**********************************************************************

**SOMETHING TO REMEMBER:**

**The String Theory connected him to Otabek.**

**********************************************************************

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM IN SUCH A WRITING MOOD YOU GUYS WOOOO THANK YOU FOR READING I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT I’M REALLY EXCITED BECAUSE MY NEXT CHAPTER PLANNED IS GOING TO BE A GOOD ONEEE YEEAAAAAAHHHHBOIIII!  
> Also thank you Abby for being a great beta ily.  
> -Elena


	6. Ambiguity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language, something that will leave you shook for 2.5 but yeah  
> SONGS/ARTISTS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: My String Theory Spotify playlist!  
> I haven’t mentioned this yet, but a lot of the Russian superstitions and quirks mentioned in this fic are all thanks to my dear friend Papaya, who was kind enough to tell me a lot of things that Yuri – being raised by an elder, which are apparently known to be very superstitious in Russia – would most likely do. The only thing Papaya didn’t teach me when it came to Russian quirks was the bit about Lilacs a couple chapters ago, that was thanks to Gentlewhispering ASMR! But seriously, a huge thanks goes out to Papaya for all their help about Russia so this fic felt more life-like, and a huge thanks to all of you for reading! I’ve been reading your comments and I’m so moved about the wonderful and kind support I’ve been getting from all of you. I’ve never had so much feedback on a fic before, and it always makes me feel so good to hear from you guys. It actually has made me want to write more and more! So I’m dead serious when I say: thank you guys, so damn much. I’m incredibly blessed that you chose to read my fic, and I’m eternally grateful. Please, enjoy :D   
> -Elena

**********************************************************************

**CHECKING HIS PHONE:**

**Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.**

**********************************************************************

Yuri was immediate in remembering not to open any links, not to listen to any news, nor communicate with anyone at all. He could trust his music, and even then, he didn’t know if his iPhone would betray him with a mind of its own and Rickroll him while he’s on the ice.

Today was April Fool’s Day.

And Viktor Nikiforov was the _king._

Yuri wondered if it would be too late to call a day off that day, but he knew Yakov would know the reason why and immediately drag him to the ice and make them suffer together. Misery, after all, enjoys company.

When he walked onto the rink, Yuri was thankful to find out that the main target of Viktor’s pranks wasn’t him this year, but his fiancé. There was a soft sigh of relief when he noticed this, but then was immediately retracting letting his guard down when Mila not-so-nonchalantly taped a picture of a fish to his back.

“It’s a French thing,” she laughed as she skated off, snickering at his annoyance. He checked his phone for texts, expecting Otabek to send him a YouTube link to “Never Gonna Give You Up” any second now, but he never did.

That’s when he was targeted by the king.

Viktor quickly skated up behind him and snatched the phone out of his hands and skated off with it, cackling as he sent an immature text to whoever it was as he tried to skate away from a fuming Yuri. But then Viktor stopped, read the reply that came in, and snorted, before replying as Yuri one more time and handing it back to the boy. The hitting was well deserved.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36829631120/in/dateposted-public/)

When he was young, Nikolai taught him to count his tickets.

Every time they got on the bus, there were six numbers on the tickets. He was taught to add the first three digits, then the last three digits, and finally check to see if the two numbers are the same. If they were the same, they had a lucky ticket, and they had to eat the ticket before the end of the ride. If they weren’t the same, then it was like a lottery ticket that didn’t have any value. Nothing gained or lost, just a ticket in the trash when it’s all over.

However, it did have one little curveball in case they weren’t the same number. If the difference between the numbers on the ticket were different by one, then that meant they were going to be meeting with someone they knew. They never knew when it was going to be or who it was going to be with.

But they were coming.

It’s something that stuck with him ever since. Even when he wasn’t in Russia, he was counting his tickets whenever it was eligible. He had eaten his lucky tickets a few times, but he never had his ticket predict an encounter.

This time on the bus, earbuds on and pulling his hood up when he sat at the window seat, he looked at his ticket as he usually did and started counting. He always counted twice, just to double check his answers and not accidentally take in bad luck because he wasn’t being cautious.

He was known at the rink for being the best with math – as a matter of fact, Mila calls him a human calculator while Georgi just sticks with the term “genius” – so counting and keeping a mental note of numbers was never an issue for him.

When it was finished, the ticket numbers had a difference of one.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/37177000466/in/dateposted-public/)

Yuri hated springtime. He hated May.

He hated Mother’s Day, most of all. That was understandable, Natasha was not an easy person to love and even less of an easier person to celebrate. He always was forced to spend time with her around that time, either on the day itself or a day or so before or after.

He never wanted to avoid it so much as he did now.

Yuri wasn’t going to tell Grandpa that he’d rather die than see her, even though he knew how his grandson felt about all of this, so he was looking for any excuse to try and not let Natasha schedule something with him. But at the same time, he didn’t want to tell Viktor or Yakov anything. They hated the woman enough, and he didn’t want to give them a reason to make them do something to threaten their careers. He wasn’t sure if Viktor had even told Yuuri – even though he was sure he did – and he was just trying to think of anything to casually bring up how to get out of it.

He couldn’t.

He just wasn’t the type, and he was faced with no other choice than to ask Viktor if he could ask him something.

“Sure,” he grinned, leaning over the railing between the ice and the floor and waiting for a response. But he wasn’t going to get one with everybody else around.

Finally, after a pause, Yuri asked him in a bland tone, “In private?”

The look on Viktor’s face faltered, and he took a deep breath and nodded. Taking off his skates and walking with the boy without saying another word. He knew what this was about, suddenly. They found themselves in the locker room, right in front of the door to shoo anyone out so they could be alone. Yuri sat on the bench. Viktor didn’t.

“What did she do this time?” Viktor asked, already irritated at the thought of her being an inconsiderate bitch of a mother. The man was lucky enough to have loving parents that got him to where he was that he used to keep in touch with on the regular, but they were gone too soon. Yuri remembers one time during one of these talks, he mentioned that he wished his parents were alive were just one more year, so at least they would have met Yuuri, just once.

“She wants to see me on Mother’s Day again. I just don’t want to.” Technically, he wasn’t wrong. He never wants to, but he always has to. “I need an excuse to get out of it.”

“Yes, but why? You’re not telling me something.” Viktor could see it in his eyes, before he sighed and knelt down in front of the sitting child and took his hands in his. He took them again when Yuri yanked them away and squeezed them tightly, similar to how he had only a couple times before. His voice went soft. “ _Bratishka,_ ” he said softly. _Little brother._ “What did she do?”

He didn’t want to tell him. He didn’t want to say a thing to anyone.

“Don’t tell Katsudon,” Yuri said softly.

“He doesn’t know.” Viktor said coolly. Yuri blinked. “He never questioned, and I wouldn’t have told him even if he asked. You’re the one that has the choice whether or not he should know. I’ll tell him about her only if you want me to.”

Yuri stared at him, a little shocked, and he could tell Viktor felt slightly insulted by the gesture. “I share a lot with him, yes, but it’s all my business. Things like this? They’re secrets to me. I’m not Yakov, you know.”

Yakov, after all, was the reason why Viktor knew. They stayed there for a moment before Yuri finally mumbled something. The man in front of him turned his head to where his ear was closer to the source of the sound, humming with a soft rising intonation as if to ask him again. Yuri repeated, this time, very clear.

“She’s a Mom,” what he said may have sounded a little obvious, but he added. “She’s a Mom to someone else.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow and then gripped his hands a little tighter. He was _mad._ “How do you know this?”

“She tried friending me again on Facebook. A new account and everything. Her profile picture is different and when I looked…” his voice trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish. They knew where he was going. “He’s six.”

Viktor stood up, his fists clenched on both sides and pursing his lips together. He had never lashed out before, not even on something inanimate, so the threat wasn’t there, but it still was an unnerving sight to see Mr. Heart Mouth _angry._

“How dare she?” He spoke through gritted teeth. He looked to Yuri. If he didn’t speak with his hands enough before, he was setting a new record now. “Where the hell is her heart? How can she live with herself like that?” Viktor wasn’t angry at having another child with a different husband. It happens. A lot. He understood this, and it wasn’t really anyone’s fault in particular – hell, Christophe is a child of divorce and is perfectly happy with two different families. No, what pissed him off was the fact that after everything awful she had done to her first son, she thinks she can just reset with a new child and try to forget everything that ever happened.

This is just a whole new level of heartless inconsideration.

“I don’t want to see her,” Yuri said again, this time a little bolder. “I need an excuse but how the hell can I tell my Grandpa, ‘no, I will not see your piece of shit daughter because she decided to get dicked by her newest drug dealer and have a son better than me.’ How the hell do I do that?”

“You don’t,” Viktor groaned. He knew just as much as the boy did that he didn’t want to see Natasha at all, but he knew that he did it to keep Nikolai’s pain regarding her at an all-time minimum. If he was Nikolai, he would have felt different, but he knew that he was raised differently in a different era, too. He thought for a moment, before he looked to him, now a brighter look on his face when he shouted, “Yuuri!”

“I’m right here.”

“No, _my_ Yuuri! We’re going to Hasetsu for about a week to visit Mom for Mother’s Day.” Suddenly, Yuri knew where this is going before Viktor even extended the invitation.

“Yes, yes, _yes,_ ” Yuri sighed in relief. The tension in his body unwinding as he took a deep breath and looked to Viktor, a soft smile on his face. “Tell my Grandpa you’re taking me, and he’ll pass the word along to Natasha. He won’t mind if you tell him that you didn’t tell me about it yet.”

Viktor nodded, visibly much happier that _finally_ after years of being unable to do anything, he’s started to pry the boy away from the toxic woman that dared to want anything to do with him. There was a pause, the Russians taking in the lighter air before he turned back to face Yuri. He knelt back down in front him and pulled him close, hugging him tightly. “Yuuri won’t mind. Your secret is still safe with me, _bratishka._ ”

The tears that slipped from cheeks and onto clothes stayed a secret, too.

**********************************************************************

**VIKTOR’S SURPRISE:**

**He invited Otabek for a few days, too.**

**********************************************************************

 

Otabek had plans to spend Mother’s Day with his own mother in Kazakhstan, and so when he found out his best friend didn’t have a mother to spend it with, he kindly offered that when he leaves Hasetsu for Kazakhstan, that the Russian would go with him. It meant cutting his trip in Japan short, but it also meant that he got to spend some time in a place he had never been before, and spend even more time with a best friend he rarely saw.

He accepted.

Yuri took the flight with Viktor and Yuuri, who were completely doting over each other the whole time. The teen didn’t say anything, instead he gratefully just thanked that headphones existed and took the window seat. It took forever, as long distance trips usually did, and when it was over, he took great pleasure in stretching his legs.

Otabek’s flight had taken him to the airport sooner, so after the crew got their luggage they met him in the main area. The best friends hugged when they met again, and Yuri could practically feel Viktor smirk at the sight. Note to self: kill him later.

“Good to see you,” Otabek said. When they pulled apart Yuri swallowed a smile, not understanding the tingling in his chest as he replied with an echo of his friend’s words.

Yuuri checked his phone and his face brightened at the screen. “Mom made Katsudon for when we get home.” The sound of delight from Viktor’s mouth was inhuman, and Yuri wasn’t sure how else he could describe the sound. Although, it was accurate to how Mrs. Katsuki’s Katsudon tasted.

“Oh, you never had that, did you, Otabek?” Yuri asked.

Viktor stopped him and asked an even more important question. “Are you Muslim?”

Otabek nodded but he shook it off. “Culturally, really. Kazakhstan isn’t so strict, or at least my family isn’t. We drink and we have pork and such.” The look on his face made it clear that he appreciated the consideration.

“You’re going to love it, then,” Viktor said, started to walk to the main entrance to leave the airport. “I swear, it’s what God eats.”

Otabek glanced at his friend with an eyebrow raised, communicating without words to see how much Viktor was exaggerating before Yuri blinked and just shrugged. “It’s really good.”

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/37367336045/in/dateposted-public/)

Yuri felt uneasy the whole ride to Hasetsu. He had this dull aching in his chest that he couldn’t explain and it was nagging at him so much that it was hard to ignore. He was sure that it was probably carsickness – because that was common to his misfortune – but it continued pounding in his chest when he stepped out of the car. He couldn’t understand; he was fine until Otabek came around. Nothing made sense as to why his body was acting this way.

But like last time Otabek was around, he swallowed it down.

_Who’s your lapushka?_

Yuri’s head snapped over to Viktor, who was happily oblivious to what was going on around him as he cooed over his blushing fiancé. He looked to Otabek, listening to all the voices, calm as usual. He could feel heat surrounding him, and he couldn’t explain why he felt so _anxious._

He had missed Otabek a lot, sure, and it was always great whenever they’d text and the Skype calls were some of the most fun he ever had, so he was so confused as to why now that they’re in person he feels almost sick. Was it the smell of him?

God, the smell of him alone – it was borderline _addictive._ He smelt of cinnamon and cedar, or at least those were the scents Yuri could pinpoint. He didn’t have the nose of a character in a fanfiction or anything like that. It was a strong scent that was equally musky and sweet, like the forest and honey.

“Yuri, you look a little pale. Do you need to roll the window down?” Otabek asked. The world seemed to revolve around his voice. It was a voice that demanded attention and rolled like thunder, but it was gentle enough to bring soft rain.

Yuri had been holding his breath the whole time.

He turned his head, rolling down the window and looking out at the night sky, praying that he gets the hell out of this damn car soon.

Thankfully they did, and the moment they pulled into the driveway he had never been so quick to get his ass out of a vehicle. Mrs. Katsuki was hugs all around, as usual, and loved that Yuri had a good friend like Otabek to bring with him. The hospitality never ceased to amaze him.

Viktor made sure that they were quick in putting their suitcase in their shared bedroom and got into their yukatas so that way he could hurry and eat God’s food. Yuri was trying not to think about his nausea at the moment, hoping that getting food in his system would take away the dizziness and lurching in his chest.

Yuuri had gotten the couple some champagne for old time’s sake, smiling and completely ignoring the teenagers as they sat down with their drinks and their Katsudon and began to eat. Yuri waited, leaning over Otabek and resting an arm on his shoulder, eager to see his reaction. The Kazakh just chuckled as he took the chopsticks and took a bite. He sat there for a second, letting the flavour rest on his tongue before he smiled like a child eating candy. “It’s good,” he said.

Satisfied, Yuri sat across him and looked at the chopsticks, but then he sighed and picked up the fork instead and started to eat. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself in front of his best friend just yet.

“You know you’re supposed to use chopsticks,” Otabek said.

Fuck.

“I don’t know how to,” Yuri confessed, a mouthful of food and a fork prepared to fill the next mouthful when he swallowed. Otabek chuckled and stopped eating, scooting around over to Yuri and taking the chopsticks, and gently, Yuri’s hand.

It was then where everything stopped.

Every fucking touch was electric. Every breath left him breathless and every little thought that dared to pass through his mind was of _him._ It consumed him. It revived him. It _demised_ him.

They say that when there is a murder, the victim is left behind with a calling card, something that would strike a name into authorities, something that – with every bone-chilling syllable upon action – told them everything, but at the same time, left them with _nothing_. Yuri Plisetsky was murdered by his best friend, and Otabek’s calling card was as simple as his name.

He would look at Yuri and instantly he was melting, falling, flying, fucking drowning in his eyes; no picture, no melody, no Shakespearian literature, no Renaissance masterpiece could ever compare to the way he could be so soft and so gentle all while being so sharp and sculpted all at once making him feel every possible crave that ever existed in the spectrum. He left Yuri in traces, smothering, scrambling about to fight for just a drink of him, he wouldn’t fucking leave. He was starlight, and entire galaxy cultivated into a human – a god, and god, did he leave him floating amongst the stars. It had just started as a soft flicker, and then it rumbled down into a roaring fire that set his whole body ablaze.

He couldn’t remember how he learned to use chopsticks after this, and he couldn’t remember when suddenly his heart would flip when Otabek would say his name; but it happened, and he happened, and _they_ happened.

It was then when he knew.

 

**********************************************************************

**JESUS FUCKING CHRIST:**

**He was in love.**

**********************************************************************

 


	7. Recognition and Repression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language, The Feels™  
> SONGS/ARTISTS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: My String Theory Playlist!! (https://open.spotify.com/user/twijill/playlist/5SQXD7BbTbuim05reBK9kf)  
> The first part of this chapter was so hard to write, fam. I originally was going to write a conversation between Yuuko Nishigori and Yuri there, but then I realised I needed to build the relationship a little more with Yuuri and Viktor, so I decided to split up the conversation between them and the mothers instead. Also I forgot to mention a while back that my personal tumblr blog is also thebaehood, in case any of you wanted to know! Anyways, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it!!  
> -Elena

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**DAWN OF THE FIRST DAY:**

**Many, many hours remaining.**

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Yuri didn’t remember whether he was properly using the chopsticks, nor did he remember his legs forcing him to stand. But he could, vaguely, recall the moment he left, power walking directly to the front door and ignoring all the blurred words that whizzed past his ears. When Otabek’s scent was no longer burning in his nostrils, he ran. He didn’t know where he was going to be honest, he just had to get away, to go anywhere where it felt like there was rain. It was always raining somewhere else.

He found himself at a little beach where the moonlight reflected on the water. He had been here a couple times, and it was thankfully late enough to where it was empty.

Yuri flopped onto the sand, staring up at the stars, the waves tickling his fingers every so often as he closed his eyes. _Breathe, Yuri,_ he thought to himself. _You’re dying, but you’re not dead yet. Breathe._

There was a deep breath, five minutes of pure and uncomfortable silence, and then screaming. He throat was scratching and cutting at itself as he let out his shrieks into the sky. His face was hot and red and he was sure it didn’t sound pretty to anyone that could have heard it passing by. He screamed until he ran out of breath, then he inhaled and started again, his head starting to feel light.

After his third round, Yuri stopped, taking in a deep and shaky breath before he went back into dead silence again. Only this time, he heard someone dash from around the trees and cry out his name.

_“Yuri!!”_

Yuri opened his eyes, sitting up and turning towards the direction of the sound, watching as Viktor’s sprint slowed down into a careful walk, sighing in relief. “You scared me to death.”

“I was just laying here,” Yuri gestured to the indention of his body in the sand behind him.

“Laying there and _screaming_?” Viktor stepped in front of him and pulled him up, starting to wipe the sand off of his back. “I thought you were being _murdered_. And when I finally find you, you just about looked like you were. So excuse me for being mildly concerned.”

“Sorry,” Yuri shrugged, his voice cold.

When Viktor finished wiping off the sand as best as he could, he pulled out his phone, accidentally blinding the both of them with the brightness until he turned it down. He sent a text before he looked to Yuri again. “Everyone was looking for you. What happened that made you just up and leave like that?”

“I got overwhelmed.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie, but it was holding back a lot of information too. He’s so much more than overwhelmed. He’s practically on the edge of panic, but he hid that beneath his bones and skin.

Viktor paused, looking back to look at his face before he made him look up to his eyes. “It’s Natasha, isn’t it?”

_Sure, old man._

Yuri didn’t say anything, and Viktor just sighed. He pulled him close, keeping him that way as they walked back to the bathhouse. It said a lot, even though no words passed his lips.

 

**Yuri Plisetsky**

@yuri_plisetsky

**fuck love.**

**5/13/17, 12:01 AM**

**147 Retweets                364 Likes**

Yuri couldn’t sleep that night, constantly tossing and turning around and fiddling with the blanket in order to get it to cooperate with him. It felt cold, and empty. It needed another body. Well, the other body he wanted was there, but how fucking weird would it be if he suddenly got cuddly in his sleep? He sighed as he sat up, getting out of the room and walking to the hot springs and laying in there, hoping it’d calm his nerves.

It didn’t.

He groaned, sitting up and checking his phone, noticing that Otabek had liked his tweet. He hoped he wouldn’t even see it, let alone like it. Then again, Otabek was a romance type, so that didn’t make sense. _Unless if he felt the same way._

“Yurio?”

Yuri peeked over the hot springs, sitting up straight and immediately sinking back into the water to cover himself, changing his tone when he saw who it was. “Mrs. Katsuki, what are you doing up this late?”

“I heard the door open,” she walked over to where the boy was and knelt down in front of him. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said simply, looking around and trying to act lost. He felt awkward, but then he remembered that she’s probably seen naked boys and girls of all ages coming through here. “I just was hoping that maybe this’ll put me to sleep.”

Mrs. Katsuki nodded for a moment, before she left, and when she returned, gave him a glass of water and a few turkey and cheese cubes on crackers to take with him to bed when he was done. He wished that he could tell someone about the real reason, but he decided to accept her generosity and spare her the headache.

“You didn’t have to,” Yuri mumbled sheepishly.

“I wanted to,” Hiroko smiled, before pointing to a room. “I have your pyjamas in the dryer, so pull them out whenever you’re done. It’ll be nice and toasty for when you’re done. If you need anything else please don’t hesitate to ask, alright?”

He nodded, “Thank you.”

Despite everything in the end, Yuri still couldn’t sleep.

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**HIS CHEST HURT WORSE:**

**Happy Mother’s Day.**

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****

Kazakhstan was – as Yuri would expect – different. Almaty, in a way, reminded him of New York, but then again most big cities did, but there was a new vibe about the place that he couldn’t quite grasp. It could possibly be the fact that the country is only about 10 years older than he is.

Or it could be the fact that this is Otabek’s home.

He knows every little catty corner and back road to everywhere, he knows the best place to get coffee and who he should talk to if he needed a repair to his phone. It was home – and Yuri was just a stranger passing through.

And he was most definitely a stranger to a big family, and even then Otabek mentioned that this wasn’t everybody.

“It’s actually kind of small right now since everyone is at home with their mothers,” he had said. The house had two parents, a sibling, and then Otabek and Yuri. Five people in one household felt like a handful and _way_ too much. Then again, Yuri was only used to one other person, maybe two.

That’s how his life had always been.

When they came in, immediately they were greeted with hugs and kisses on cheeks by different strangers – so Yuri was _definitely_ uncomfortable. They seemed to have skipped the handshake greeting and gone directly into being comfortable enough to hug him. They were most certainly friendly, he had to say.

Otabek couldn’t help but chuckle softly at Yuri’s look of silent shock at two other people coming up and asking him questions. Like with the Yuri’s Angels, he had to shoo them away for his friend so they could have some space. “They were really excited to meet you,” Otabek said.

“You’re just about all he talks about,” said a little girl with an orange dress. She had her hair in a fluffy green hair tie, and there was a small lisp when she spoke because of the gap between her two front teeth.

“You must be Tamara,” Yuri asked, and she nodded with a big toothy grin. Okay, yeah, she was kind of adorable. Time to tease. “You look like a pumpkin.”

She just shrugged her shoulders and then went back to what she was doing before they came: helping her mother with dinner. Yuri’s eyes immediately went to the taller man and he looked him up and down carefully, he was really young, but he looked older than Otabek, so he didn’t know what else to address him as. “Mr. Altin?”

The man laughed and shook his head. “No, Dad’s at work.”

_Jesus fucking Christ there’s another one._

Otabek clearly didn’t look comfortable whenever he spoke, but it wasn’t out of disgust or anything, but more of a jealousy type of uncomfortable. “Well, aren’t you good looking,” the man smiled with a wink – obviously trying to be nice instead of creepy, but with his unusually stoic best friend suddenly wearing _that_ face, it didn’t really come across nice. “Name’s Erkin, obviously Otabek’s older brother, but you can call me Kin if you wanna.”

“Nobody’s ever called you that,” Otabek raised his eyebrow at him and cocked his wrist to the side to where his palm was facing the sky. It was as if to say _what the fuck are you doing_ without the words coming out of his mouth.

Erkin shrugged it off. “Should’ve known you were the Russian skater he couldn’t stop talking about for years,” he chuckled softly and had them all sit on the couch. “Come on, don’t you want to know all the dirty details on your boyfriend there?”

There was a moment where the two friends exchanged looks. As much as Yuri loved the idea, he had to say something before his friend got even more uncomfortable than he already was. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Erkin paused, looking back to his younger brother with a strange look, as if he was expecting them to be. Otabek shot back a look that seemed almost helpless, as if to say he was trying, or that he was scared. Erkin nodded at that and held his hands up in surrender and looked back to Yuri. “I’m just saying, he had this travel book, and if I’m right about who you are,” he leaned in close to Yuri, their eyes close and the Russian felt himself flinch. “‘Captivating green eyes, so strong.’”

“I did not,” Otabek’s face had tinges of pink under his skin.

The older brother laughed at the embarrassment of the skaters, “Would you like some chai? I would offer food but Mom’s already making some.”

Yuri shrugged, “I wouldn’t mind some chai.”

He smiled and rose to a stand, heading to the kitchen. “I’ll make my specialty. I made it up myself and everybody that’s tried it said that they loved it, so I would love for you to try it,” he said as he walked.

“Yeah, because you’re practically perfect in every way,” Otabek mumbled, a pang of jealousy in his tone.

Erkin paused and looked back, “What was that, Beka?”

“I said it’s because you’re _terrible_ and _probably_ _gay_.”

Erkin snorted, lips curling up before he just shrugged and started to giggle as he spoke. “ _Please_ make that your Twitter bio. Otabek Altin: figure skater for Kazakhstan, terrible and most definitely gay.”

Otabek’s eyes narrowed. “Your chai isn’t that good.”

The brother dramatically placed a hand on his heart, pretending to be offended. “Damn, why the stick up your ass? You love it,” he chuckled. “Have some of my chai and chill.”

Otabek peeked around the corner to make sure his mother wasn’t looking, before he brought up his thumb and stuck it in-between index and middle finger, holding up his hand to show it to Erkin, who laughed it off as he walked into the kitchen.

“I don’t know what that means in Kazakhstan but I hope you know that’s really offensive in Russia,” Yuri chuckled darkly.

The Kazakh nodded. “I know. It means the same thing here.”

“Damn,” Yuri laughed. “What’s your deal with your brother?”

Otabek shook his head with a slight annoyance. “There’s nothing between my brother and I,” he lied. “I’ll get over it.”

Mrs. Altin’s food was most definitely delicious, and Erkin’s chai tasted even better paired with dinner. Mr. Altin, much to his misfortune, had come home just in time to eat with the family and ask Yuri the most anxiety-inducing questions.

“Do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend?”

“What do you want to do after skating?”

“Do you want to go to college?”

“What are you going to major in?”

“Do you want to start your own family one day?”

Yuri had never taken a Xanax in his life but God have mercy on his soul on this one because he was about to. It was hard to enjoy good food when being asked all the pressing questions in the world, and he just wanted to scream ‘I’M STRUGGLING TO WAKE UP FOR MY NEXT PRACTICE DO YOU REALLY THINK I THOUGHT AS FAR AS RETIREMENT’ to him, even though he knew he meant well with the small talk.

The end was when the Altin siblings all surprised their mother with a cake and some presents. Of course, each of the children had gotten her different things based on how they knew her. Tamara had given her some cute arts and crafts she made at school – ranging from pictures she coloured with crayons to paper flowers. Erkin had given her a beautiful and simple gold necklace, with the stones in the shape of a heart.

Otabek, however, had given her a book. Yuri didn’t understand the sentimental value behind it until he noticed the tears in her eyes. Apparently, it was her favourite that she thought she had lost in a house fire when Otabek was very young; he had tucked it into his coat then, and he had forgotten all about it until recently when he was unpacking the last of his boxes into his room. It was still there, just as it was – still wrapped up in the coat.

The love these children had for their mother was unreal. A pang of jealousy washed through Yuri like opening a floodgate, and he had to squish it down as far as he could to not let on that he was a bastard child with Mommy Issues.

When it was finished, they had more cake, and Otabek brought Yuri up to his bedroom, flopping onto his bed with a loud sigh. It had been a long day, despite very little happening. There was a little pause that dragged, before Yuri spoke up.

“Jealous much?”

Otabek opened one eye and looked at his best friend. “What?”

“Your brother. The envy was all over you.”

Otabek sighed, laying his head back for a moment, before both his eyes were open and he sat back up. “Because he’s perfect, Yura. His job, his life, his style,” he trailed off and let out a sombre breath. “He’s always been everything I wanted to be. He’s perfect and I’m not and … and I got worried you’d like him better than me.”

Yuri paused at what he said about his brother, soaking all this information with a curt nod before walking over and hugging him, not saying anything. It was the most physical contact he had with Otabek since the night in Hasetsu, and his body was already craving more. He wanted to come up with an excuse to kiss him again, but he knew nothing was going to be good enough. His best friend hugged back, almost relieved, and continued.

“I travelled a lot for my career. He got to stay home with my family and see my sister be born. I’ve been jealous for a long time. Everyone loves having him around and then I saw him with you and just kinda panicked,” Otabek pulled away from his friend and readjusted himself. “Sorry.”

Yuri shook his head, “That’s fine, Beka. But riddle me this: am I best friends with Erkin, or am I best friends with you?”

Otabek smiled, and Yuri felt a pang in his heart.

_Did I fall in love with him or did I fall in love with you?_

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**IT WAS A STAB TO THE HEART:**

**As always, Yuri swallowed it down.**

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Just like the last few nights, Yuri couldn’t sleep. He was sharing a bed with Otabek this time, so he had to be careful when he snuck out of the bed and downstairs. And just like before, he was greeted with the woman of the household.

Mrs. Altin had looked up from the book in her hands, her reading glasses hanging on the bridge of her nose with a lukewarm cup of chai next to her. Her hair was down instead of being in a bun, the waves grazing just past her collarbones.

“Everything alright Yuri?” she asked, bookmarking where she was and closing the novel, setting it right next to the chai.

“No,” he said simply. He wasn’t going to question why she was up so late, but then he remembered it was only midnight. It felt a lot later than it was. “You wouldn’t like it if I told you what it was either, so I can’t tell you.”

“If you broke something just tell me, it’s not a big deal and we have the money to replace it,” she waved it off, thinking that could be the worst possible outcome of what the boy was meaning.

Yuri shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.” There was a pause, before Mrs. Altin held up her finger to ask him to wait. She stood, gesturing him to sit next to where she was on the sofa. He obeyed, and when she came back she had two cups of chai in her hand, putting her old cup in the sink and giving him one of the two. “Go on.”

At first, Yuri didn’t say anything, staring down into the untouched chai before he started to protest, saying he shouldn’t. But when she intervened, he stopped, let out a deep breath he was holding, and avoided looking at her in the eyes. He mumbled something.

“Come again?”

“I’m in love with your son.”

Mrs. Altin laughed, setting her chai onto the coffee table and tucking her fingers under Yuri’s chin as he started to sip his chai, making him turn his head to look at her. He felt off by her touching him this way, never having experienced this kind of tender gentleness from a woman before. When their eyes met, that’s when she said what came next: “I know.”

Yuri choked on his chai. “Was it that obvious?”

She grinned. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he yanked his head off of her faint grasp, gripping onto his chai a little tighter and looking away. “Because, two reasons: first being that love doesn’t exist and the second being because I can’t say anything or it’ll ruin our friendship and I … I can’t lose him.”

“Well if you’re in love you kind of just proved yourself wrong on your first point. And for your second,” she thought for a moment, and took a sip of the chai, letting the suspense hang there for a moment before asking the question. “Have you ever considered that maybe he likes you too?”

Yuri snorted with a faint scoff. “That’s not possible.”

Mrs. Altin gave him a look before just shrugging it off and taking another drink from the tea. “Sure, Yuri.”

“I’m serious.”

“Well, okay, let’s say he didn’t. I know my son well enough to know saying something about it will in fact _not_ ruin the friendship you two have,” she explained, looking at him very matter-of-factly. “I thought you knew him better than that.”

“Okay but even then,” Yuri started to sound a little hysterical at this point with his over thinking, “He’ll feel awkward about it and probably feel obligated–”

“–No he won’t–”

“–And even if he did, I’m not good enough for him anyway.”

“Yuri, that’s not true.” For Christ’s sake, the woman had to hear her son babble on about how amazing his best friend was for the better part of a year now. She wasn’t going to let them both be miserable and pining for a long ass time because of insecurities and what-ifs. “And I’m going to tell you something that your mother clearly never taught you: if there’s a will, there’s a way, and if there’s a lack of a will, there’s an excuse.”

Yuri felt a pang in his heart at that. He knew she didn’t know any better, and it was genuinely good advice, but he couldn’t help himself from feeling a little insulted. “You’re right, she didn’t teach that to me. Because I don’t have a Mom,” he mumbled harshly.

It cut a silence through the room, and quickly Mrs. Altin felt small. “I’m very sorry, Yuri. I should have known better.”

And now, it was Yuri’s turn to feel small. He didn’t want to make her feel guilty for it, and he regretted bringing his personal baggage into this. “It’s fine. It’s not like she’s dead or anything, she’s just…I live with my Grandpa, and he didn’t teach me that either.”

Mrs. Altin nodded, understanding as best as she could and then taking the chai from his hands. After setting it down, she took both of his hands and asked her to look at him. When he did, that’s when she continued. “Please, trust me on this when I say that you should tell him. Things will go a lot better than you think.”

They sat in silence for a while, Yuri chugging the rest of his chai down, now that it had cooled, and didn’t say anything when he hugged her. He decided that he was going to confess at the airport, so – worst case scenario, if things go south he can just get on the plane and leave to Russia. “Thank you, Mrs. Altin.”

“Please,” she said. “Call me Mama.”

Saying he was going to confess, Yuri soon discovered, versus actually confessing, was a lot easier said than done. His knees were weak, arms were heavy, he felt like vomiting on his sweatshirt already.

Mama’s spaghetti.

He’s nervous – his leg was bouncing the whole car ride and he found himself fidgeting a lot with his fingers. Needless to say he was sure he looked awful trying to pass through airport security. Random selections were a definite to him, who looked like there was a dead body in his carry-on.

When they made it to the terminal, Yuri looked as pale as a sheet. He might have been shaking, but he couldn’t tell.

“Yuri, are you feeling alright?” Otabek asked, placing the back of his hand against his neck to feel his temperature. “You’re a little warm.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Yuri laughed nervously. He was not fine. He was so far from fine that fine had a whole new meaning in the dictionary. “Just a little nervous.”

“About the plane? Taking something to ground me helps when it’s a long trip or if I’m feeling particularly uneasy. Do you have anything that smells like home to you that you can carry around?” Otabek, what a perfect and gentle soul. The naiveté was real.

Yuri shook his head and took a deep breath. He had to get onto the flight soon anyways, so he stood. “No,” He said. He held his breath, before finally admitting: “There’s something I have to tell you. Something I’ve been holding in.”

Otabek raised his eyebrow but he was listening. In that moment he could swear they could feel each other – and they were feeling the same thing.

 

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**HE WISHED THEY HAD MORE TIME:**

**Departure came before he had a chance to say it.**

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry about some parts being a little off but thank you so much for reading I really hope you like this I hit a small writer’s block as I did. I think it’s because I require an atmosphere to write and I’m currently at my parent’s house so *shrug and idk sound.* But anyways!! Thank you again so much for reading!! Writing love is hard because I’m aro as fuck but I appreciate that you guys like my attempt at trying!!  
> -Elena


	8. Audience Design

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language, mentions of (death, drug use, and abuse), equal parts angst and fluff  
> SONGS/ARTISTS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: My String Theory Playlist! I cleaned it up a little so it’s not 6 hours long and in a particular order – it’s not perfect by any means, it’s my first at a proper playlist, but it’s good enough! ^^’ https://open.spotify.com/user/twijill/playlist/5SQXD7BbTbuim05reBK9kf  
> Hi prepare yourselves this chapter is going to be loooooooooong. I just kinda started writing and I could have ended it at certain points but honestly I didn’t want to so here have this long ass chapter. Also!! In case you haven’t noticed, yes, I figured out that this piece is going to have a total of 13 chapters – I did some quick and brief planning for the main plot of each chapter and after this chapter I will only have four more! Well, 13 is going to be more of an epilogue, so I guess 12 chapters and an epilogue? It’ll be a longer epilogue though, so I’ll just say it’s a chapter. I guess. Idk. xD But anyways!! Thank you so much for reading this and I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you thank you thank you!!  
> -Elena

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**OFFICIALLY:**

**2017-2018.**

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Yuri had never been so scared and excited of a new season since his senior debut. Was every year after going to be this way? The other skaters seemed to be fine, even though he knew that Katsudon put on a face – the poor pig – and Yuri noticed he was having to do the same thing.

Anxiety was something Yuri does not have, let that be clear, but he did always find himself with a bit of nervousness when he was about to do something big, like anybody else. It could be an important speech, a play, or just about anything that requires undivided attention and perfection – and Yuri would feel like throwing up. But when it was finished, he was fine, and that was where he and the Katsudon differed – that’s when he was able to peek behind the curtain to see just a sliver of the monster anxiety was.

Yuri wasn’t too concerned about the Grand Prix Final, since the Olympics were in the same season, he was going to have to train three times harder to get a good score against _Olympians._ Those assholes put him to shame. Thankfully, Yulia Lipnitskaya and Evgenia Medvedeva were ladies, so he wasn’t going to be skating against them – one was the youngest to win a gold medal, and the other holds a fucking _world record._

Again, Yuri was relieved he wasn’t a woman.

At the rink, he noticed that Viktor was pushing his fiancé a little harder than usual. It wasn’t anything odd, since he knew exactly how harsh of a coach Viktor could be, but at the same time, he noticed the Russian champion was hardly skating. At all.

“Why don’t you get on the ice and skate what you demand the piggy to do?” Yuri sneered as he glided by. “I get feeling confident about the Grand Prix, but it’s the Olympics you gotta keep yourself in check for.”

“I’m not competing in the Olympics,” Viktor said simply.

Yuri stopped, stunned, before he turned back to the older Russian with the realisation that he was the only one competing for his country. “You’re what?”

“I didn’t compete in Worlds, therefore I wasn’t on their list,” he said simply, before turning to Yuri with a grin. “That doesn’t mean I won’t annihilate you at the Grand Prix.”

Competitive talk. That wasn’t common – at least before Yuuri came into the picture. Yuri scoffed, crossing his arms and daring him to say something more. He said more.

“I mean, at least based on what I’ve seen of your free skate, you’ll probably make it to the podium, but you won’t win gold.”

“I’ve improved,” Yuri was offended now, at least a little bit, and he moved to the centre of the ice. There was an unspoken demand to skate it, and he was going to comply, despite the odd feeling in his gut telling him that Viktor had been antagonising him to get him to skate this all along.

But still, he skated anyway.

Luminous sounded different now; it sounded more hopeful and cinematic, a love story that was happy in the end. A tale that wasn’t afraid, but instead fuelled by an unrelenting desire to fly – like shining a light in the dark, like being luminous.

In a way, Yuri’s life was a little more luminous, a little more featherlight.

When he finished, there was silence, and then Viktor smiled. He couldn’t place the emotion behind his eyes, but he could make out traces of joy and relief; it was almost melancholy, in a way. But then he swallowed, and downgraded to a half-grin, his index finger resting on his cheek. “I don’t like the ending pose,” he said.

“I don’t either,” Yuri shrugged, trying to catch his breath and drink some water. “It’s evolving.”

“Develop it however you want,” Viktor smiled. “I got what I need.”

Yuri huffed as he rolled his eyes, getting back onto the ice to practice some more. He thought Viktor needed to see him skate to prove his worth, but that wasn’t the case at all. He needed to see him skate for an entirely different reason – to prove a theory, of sorts, a theory he discovered was completely right.

 

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**THE INQUIRY:**

**Yuri was skating for someone.**

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Tchaikovsky played faintly in the background as Lilia was cutting vegetables for borscht. Yuri sat at the dining room on the other side of the breakfast bar that divided him from the kitchen, noticing a new set of lilacs along with other summery flowers that were arranged alongside it. Before he could do anything, the woman on the other side spoke up, her voice sharper than the knife she was using to dice onions.

“Stay out of the lilacs,” she said.

Yuri huffed and leaned back into the seat.

“Yakov told me about how you stayed up until three in the morning last time looking through the last batch. _Three in the morning,_ Yuri.” She added a few seasonings and spices, then took a taste. “Come here, tell me if it’s good.”

“It tastes fine Lilia,” Yuri pulled out his phone and noticed it was a text from Otabek in response to something he had sent. He smiled just slightly and was about two letters into his reply when Lilia snapped her fingers.

“I said _come here,_ and _tell me if it’s good_ ,” she pointed to a little area in front of her where the boy should be standing. He sighed and stood, walking to where he was supposed to be and braced himself for a wooden spoon slamming into his mouth, the hot soup flooding along his tongue. She snatched his phone and just checked the screen before giving it back to him. “Don’t let the Kazakh be a distraction to you, Yurochka, or I’m taking away your phone.”

“You’re not my Mom,” he said as he walked back to the dining room and sat back down where he was, replying this time. “It tastes fine.”

“What’s your deal?” Lilia’s voice was stern, her eyes darting over to the teen and crossing her arms. “You need to watch your tone.”

“It’s not you,” Yuri said simply. He wasn’t wanting to explain the fact that his mother didn’t seem to care if he was out of town. She was still wanting to meet up with him for a belated Mother’s Day, regardless of all his attempts to avoid contact. Why the hell did she insist on making his life so hard?

She paused, before she sat the borscht down in front of him, taking his phone. Before he could try and take it back, she turned it off and just sat it on the counter so he could focus on eating. “If it’s your mother, I understand, but you need to learn to not take it out on people that care about you.”

Yuri was going to ask how she knew, but then he remembered Yakov couldn’t keep secrets.

“I hate her,” he said, his spoon twirling around the red soup.

“Everybody does,” Lilia sat down across from him and looked at him. “But you need to control your attitude. I’m not Natasha.”

“I wasn’t saying you were,” Yuri sighed, before he finally started to eat in silence. There wasn’t anything said between them, until Yuri finally changed the subject. “What did you do when you realised you were in love?”

Lilia rolled her eyes. “I was nev–”

“–Don’t bullshit me. You married once, and I know if the right guy came along, you would do it again.”

She pursed her lips together, before she just sighed and eyed him carefully. “It’s the Kazakh, isn’t it?”

Yuri was scared – but that was the last thing he was going to say.

Lilia finished her borscht before he did, and when she did she rose to a stand with a deep breath. She asked if Yuri was done and when he nodded she took his bowl too. She was about to leave in silence before she stopped, and handed him his phone back, and said one phrase. One phrase left her throat before she left him alone in the dining room altogether.

_“Good luck.”_

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36829630930/in/dateposted-public/)

Yuri was done with Viktor and Katsudon’s shit before, but he was most certainly done when they asked him for Mariska. That was their way of announcing they were moving out of Viktor’s apartment and into their own home together in St. Petersburg – it’s a Russian tradition that the first thing to enter a new home is a cat or an old man.

“Viktor, you’re old enough, you can go in,” Yuri said with a smirk, not looking up from his phone. “I mean, you’re already balding.”

Viktor stopped, then dramatically fell onto the ice, hiding his face in shame as he lied on the ground. Yuuri quickly rushed up to him and knelt down, trying to roll him onto his back and yelling, _“No, no, no, it’s very thick and shiny! Everything’s okay!”_

“I’m ruined,” Viktor groaned as he rolled onto his back with a dramatic sigh, looking over at Yuri. “You did this to me.”

“Good,” Yuri laughed. “Maybe that’ll give the pig a chance to win gold and _finally_ you two will get married and shut the hell up.”

Viktor just smirked at him as he sat up. “You say that as if marriage is going to make me stop? He’s too precious, I just _can’t_ stop doting over him!” In doing so, he immediately pulled the flustered Japanese man down and gave him eskimo kisses across his face while he hugged him tight. Yuri gagged.

Before Viktor could counter argue, Yakov called for Yuri to come off the ice. There was a sense of urgency in his tone, and so the teasing instantly fell, the skater obeying and following his coach through the doors and into the locker rooms. It was the only place with some kind of privacy.

“Go home, Yura,” he said simply. Yuri blinked, arching his eyebrows instead of speaking. It told him to elaborate. He did. “In Moscow. Your grandpa needs you and _as soon as possible._ ”

Nothing struck panic into the boy sooner. Immediately, his blood ran cold and a lump caught in his throat. “Is he okay? Is he hurt? What happened?” were immediate questions that rushed out of his mouth as he quickly gathered his things.

Yakov shook his head. “He’s fine. It’s something else, but he made me promise not to tell you.”

As if that helped settled his nerves.

The four hour train ride felt like a blur and he tried to sleep to rest his nerves, but he was constantly fidgeting and unable to do anything except overthink. Granted, his grandpa is allegedly alive and well, but that didn’t stop him at all for facing extreme anxiety about what was going on.

When he arrived in Moscow, he took a cab to the house, and he ran inside as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn’t see anything at first until he walked upstairs, where he found his Grandpa sitting on the loveseat in the living room, reading the paper. But the moment Yuri showed up in his peripherals, he quickly stood and hugged him tightly. There was sadness coated all over him. Guilt.

“Grandpa, what’s going on?” Yuri asked when they pulled apart, and Nikolai simply gestured to sit. Yuri obeyed, sitting and then turning his body so he could easily face his grandfather.

There was a deep silence, before Nikolai just took a deep breath and sat down as well. “So, remember how I told you births happen for a reason and deaths happen for a reason – all the time, right?”

It was the same thing he told Yuri when he was six – regarding his grandma.

Before he could tell Nikolai to rip the band-aid off, he continued.

“It’s your mother. She’s gone.”

It almost didn’t feel right – everything suddenly felt askew – and it took him a solid thirty seconds before the words finally sank in. _Damn_ , he thought. He didn’t breathe, he didn’t blink, he didn’t cry. He felt a strange hollowness, but it didn’t hurt. It just felt like being cold.

“How?” Yuri finally asked.

Nikolai took a deep breath as if he was dreading this question, but he told his grandson anyway. “Heroin overdose.”

Yuri wasn’t at all surprised. “I’m sorry, Grandpa,” his voice was soft, and he walked up to hug him tightly. He didn’t want to go to her funeral if there was one, but he knew that he would have no choice – he would go through hell if it meant helping his Grandpa in any way possible. Natasha’s funeral is no exception.

“The wake is Thursday and the funeral is Friday,” Nikolai told him, wiping his eyes when he pulled away. “You don’t have to go.”

He knew that there was going to be an offer, but he also knew that he wasn’t selfish. “I’m going with you,” Yuri shook his head. “I’ll tell Yakov to mark me off for the rest of this week and I’ll go back to St. Petersburg on Saturday.”

Nikolai smiled softly, before he stood up and walked into the kitchen to make some dinner – pirozhki, as always. The house felt odd, as if colour didn’t belong, but Yuri changed into something bright, washing his hands and assisting in whatever way he could. All Yuri could remember was the last words his mother had said to him as he was being escorted out of her custody by the police.

_“You did this to me!”_

Yuri never knew what she was talking about until he got older and learned about her habits with needles. The only logical assumption as to why she said that to him was because he shared enough of his father’s likeness, but in the end he didn’t know if the pregnancy pushed her over the edge. Even then, he knew that if he had done that to her, this was a domino effect, a ripple in a long, long pond.

****

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**IT ONLY MEANT ONE THING:**

**It meant that he had killed her.**

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The early February morning was cold, a bitter kind of cold with a warm heart and icy wind. The woman was at her doorway, trying to reach her son, being held back by the police as he screamed threats and just about anything painful to twist the knife in her sobbing child. According to her, the child was useless, weak, unintelligent, and just about everything wrong with the world. 

_“You did this to me!”_ She cried. The boy, by this point, was trying to rush back to his mother, to hug her and tell her she’s wrong, that he loved her still. The police wouldn’t let him. “You tore this family apart, you ruined all of us! None of this would have happened if it weren’t for _you!”_

A policewoman took the child into her arms and held him carefully and comfortingly, carrying him the rest of the way to the vehicle he was going to leave in. His grandfather’s. The woman was asked repeatedly to stop. She didn’t.

The boy wouldn’t budge when sat down, not wanting to cooperate. He didn’t understand, his mother never hit him, so he didn’t understand why he was being taken away for abuse. He didn’t know what neglect or what heroin was either, but he heard those words being thrown around too.

Finally, with “Worthless bitch” escaping the mother’s lips, something in the policewoman snapped. She completely abandoned the child, taking her jacket off and storming up to the _real_ worthless bitch in this situation. There was a swift punch to the face, that the boy had the horrific misfortune – or fortune, looking back on it – of watching, despite his grandfather trying to pull him away from the scene. The officers around the mother quickly let go of her and let the policewoman climb on top of her and continue her beating, screaming at her for what she was doing to her own son.

This continued for the better part of three minutes, but it felt like three hours – and she would have continued had an officer not pulled her off, telling her, “You’re going to kill her.”

Maybe that’s what she wanted.

But, she knew her job was already on the line for this, so she stopped. She got off the barely conscious woman with a deep breath, taking the bloodied gloves off her hands before calming herself. She looked back, noticing the child had witnessed the whole thing. She wiped her nose, and then walked down to the boy.

He was scared of her, and rightfully so, but he did not flinch away, even when she grabbed him tightly by his shoulders.

“What’s your name?” She asked. There was urgency in her tone.

“Yuri,” he answered immediately.

“My name is Maria,” she said. Her voice was calm, soothing. “Listen to me, and listen well. Don’t you ever, _ever,_ let anybody talk to you that way. Don’t let anybody hurt you, don’t let anybody be mean to you, don’t let anybody treat you any way less than what you deserve. _Ever_. Do you understand me?”

Yuri nodded, his body shivering in the cold and the tears freezing to his face, just like the specks of blood on hers. Maria nodded sternly, and continued. “You’re strong, Yuri, very strong, like a soldier. Don’t let anybody take away that flame.”

And with that, she picked the five-year-old up and buckled him into the back seat. She paused before she left, taking off her badge and giving it to the child, then finally walked off, hopping into her vehicle and waiting there, keeping an eye on him, even when the car started.

Nikolai saw what happened, but didn’t ask what the policewoman said to his grandson, instead asking, “do you want to sit in the front, Yurochka?”

Yuri’s thumb rubbed against the badge before he looked up, smiling faintly and nodding. His grandpa smiled warmly, taking the coupons off the front seat and tucking them into the glovebox. He pat the seat, and watched the child unbuckle himself and climb into the front. He helped Yuri get situated. He noticed the badge, almost wanting to pin it to his grandson’s shirt, but he refrained.

“That was nice of her to give it to you. Did you say thank you?” Yuri shook his head, suddenly disappointed with himself for forgetting his manners. Nikolai just pat his knee. “It’s okay, Yurochka. We all forget sometimes. How about I make you some food when we go home, hmm? I know it’s too early in the morning for you to have had breakfast yet.”

“I’m not hungry,” Yuri mumbled, staring down at the badge.

“Not hungry? Such a shame, then I guess I’ll eat all the pirozhki myself,” Nikolai teased, then laughed when he saw the boy’s eyes light up and furiously shake his head.

“I want some pirozhki!” he cried.

“But I thought you said you weren’t hungry?” the grandfather smiled and leaned a hand over to tickle the child in the passenger seat. “Or are you just hungry for pirozhki?”

“Pirozhki! Pirozhki!” Yuri screeched in between his laughter from being tickled. “I’m hungry for pirozhki!”

They shared some laughter, and a breath of relief. With both hands on the steering wheel now, Nikolai drove forward, on the way to where they would live for the rest of his days. “Alright, Yurochka. You win, I’ll make you some pirozhki.”

There was a yay, a thank you, a smile, and the feeling that everything was going to be alright.

 

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**ONE SMALL FACT:**

**It was.**

**********************************************************************

 

Yuri had never even been to a funeral or a wake, much less seen a dead body. Much less, his _mother’s_ dead body. It was intense, no matter how he felt about her, and there were intense emotions behind him in regards to her, and then seeing her just lay there as if she was sleeping, made him feel sick. He didn’t want to go up to the coffin at first, but then he saw his grandpa walk up there, and he’d be damned if he let him face this alone.

He stood right by his grandpa’s side, and it was the only time in his life where he had ever seen him cry. That immediately shattered his heart into the tiniest of pieces, and then incinerated the pieces. Tears were definite, but they weren’t for the corpse in the casket.

Yuri nudged his grandfather to get him to move, but he wouldn’t, his eyes fixated on his daughter. He could almost feel what his eyes were saying – _she shouldn’t be here._

“Grandpa, you’re torturing yourself,” Yuri whispered. “Let’s go.”

And finally, Nikolai broke away, allowing Yuri to guide him to the next room where there was food and chai, where others were socialising and sharing condolences. All he heard was the positive. Never the reality.

He sat by his grandfather, just keeping him company and doing anything he could to help make the atmosphere feel a little lighter. Anything. He had just handed him a cup of chai before he looked over, seeing a few kids running around and playing with each other, despite their parents shushing them and telling them to be respectful. One of those children, he recognized.

Her new son.

Nikolai noticed Yuri staring at the child, and he gestured for him to go introduce himself if he wanted to. He hesitated, before he agreed. Stepping in front of his half-brother, Yuri knelt down and asked if they could talk.

The boy was suddenly starstruck, staring at Yuri with wide, sparkling eyes and a whimsical wonder in his tone. “Yuri Plisetsky!” the boy said to himself in awe.

“You know who I am?” Yuri asked.

“You’re the greatest skater in the world!” He said. “Mama watched you all the time, she said you were best. You’re so cool! Can I have a picture with you?”

The skater smiled warmly, and then nodded, on one request. “Can you tell me what your name is?”

“Dmitri,” he said.

“Did you know that your Mama was also my Mama?” Yuri asked him, his voice altered to make the child feel a little excited.

Dmitri was so excited and bouncy the older boy was sure he was going to pull something. The boy’s father walked over, and there was recognition, but he didn’t say anything for the moment so they could take this picture. Yuri plastered on a smile, and then shooed the boy to go play with the other kids when the man walked up to them.

“You must be Yuri,” the man said and held out his hand. “I’m Joseph, Natasha’s husband. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Yuri shook his hand and just shrugged with a simple “it’s okay.” He paused, debating on whether or not to ask the next question, but he decided to dive in anyway. “Did you know about her…addiction?”

The question struck a response of disbelief. Joseph shook his head and sighed deeply. “None of us knew. She was the perfect mother and the perfect wife, and so the fact this came up in the autopsy…it shocked me, needless to say. It must have been her first time.”

“It wasn’t.”

Joseph looked at Yuri and then eyed him carefully. “How would you know? Natasha told me–”

“–You shouldn’t trust what she tells you. She’s a liar. You forget that I was her son longer than you were her husband, and I lived with her before I was taken away. She’s been an addict for as long as I could remember, so I’m honestly surprised she made it this long.”

“You weren’t taken away, you _ran_ away. You were the one that lied on her and painted her out to be abusive to the police and now that hangs over her record forever,” Joseph was offended, and equally ignorant.

Yuri scoffed, keeping his voice down so he wouldn’t start a scene. “I’m sorry, but are you me? Were you the one she locked in the closet for hours on end? Were you—”

“—You were too young to remember. Your grandpa told you that,” he said. “Natasha told me about how he so easily brainwashed you. I know my wife, she wouldn’t have ever done such a thing.”

Yuri _cackled_ ; it was cynical, cold, and completely, 100 percent degrading. “Tell you what, when you go to hell, you can ask her for yourself.”

Joseph looked like he was just about to snap on the boy, before a woman walked up and intervened between the two of them. There was a familiarity about her, but at the same time, she was unrecognizable. Her voice struck into Yuri, though, and he was quickly running through the names in his head to figure out who she was.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” the woman smiled at them both, before turning to face Joseph. “I would like to explain that while she may have put on a different façade for you and her new son, I have seen first-hand _exactly_ how she treated Yuri.”

She knows him by name, and has seen this _how_?

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Joseph asked exactly was what Yuri was thinking and getting ready to say.

“You don’t, but Yuri does. I was there the night Natasha was arrested and he was put in his grandfather’s custody. I’m sure she’s talked about me,” she smirked. “My name is Maria. I was the one that put her in the hospital before I put her in prison.”

Joseph froze, and suddenly his world came crashing down right behind his eyes. He couldn’t understand how she was possibly able to do the evils she was accused of, and yet here he was, faced with two people telling the same story – and one of them was an outsider. Before he could say anything, she gently took Yuri by the arm and walked away with him, escorting him away from everyone else, where it was just the two of them.

“I remember you,” Yuri said. “I didn’t recognize you at first, sorry about that.”

She shrugged it off. “It’s the hair, isn’t it? I know,” she laughed before having them both sit down. “Oh, before you ask, yes, I was fired. But good news, I’m a professional boxer now because of it, so I think it’s a fair trade.”

“Wasn’t going to ask, but congratulations,” Yuri cracked a half-smile because he had to. “Can I ask why you came?”

“Heard you were coming. I wanted to congratulate you on your golds,” Maria playfully punched his arm. “So, congratulations.” She pursed her lips together tightly as a heavy silence rang in the air, before she finally told him: “And, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’m not mourning her.”

“I know, but I mean that sincerely. There’s anger on you, and I feel it. I’m sorry she made you feel this way, I’m sorry that she wasn’t better, I’m sorry she wasn’t the mother you deserved,” she said, her voice serious now. She held him by his shoulders again and just stared into his eyes, before chuckling to herself for a moment. “You’ve got fire in your eyes, boy. You never let anyone douse you out.” She smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

At first, Yuri didn’t say anything, before he mumbled something soft.

_“Yuri Plisetsky had the unforgettable eyes of a soldier.”_

“Come again?”

Yuri shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just something a friend of mine told me.”

“Is this friend of yours that Kazakh skater everyone’s taking pictures of you with?”

Yuri couldn’t help but laugh at that. It seemed everybody else knew about Otabek and Yuri. “Yeah, actually.”

“Do you like him?” Maria teased. However, all jokes were pushed aside when his face went red and didn’t say anything in response. “Does he know?”

Yuri shook his head. “I’ve been too scared to tell him. I was supposed to tell him months ago in May but I had to leave before I could and he’s too nice to ask me about it when in reality it’s September and I haven’t forgotten I just don’t want to say anything,” his words were rushed and practically strung together in one continuous sentence, the flow sounding more like thoughts vomiting out the mouth instead of a normal conversation. The anxiousness was a little too real. “I don’t know what to do.”

Maria thought for a moment before she just shrugged. “I can’t say. Everybody’s different, Yuri. But I will tell you this: when the right moment comes, you’ll feel it, and that’s the time you should just dive right in.”

Yuri breathed carefully, before he nodded. He didn’t say anything more on the subject, but instead reaching for closure. “You know, I never did thank you for the badge.”

The woman smiled warmly, then she leaned forward to hug him tightly. There was no you’re welcome, there was nothing else to say, just an embrace that had a voice – a voice that can’t be heard, coming in louder than words.

 

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**JOSEPH’S LAST WORDS TO YURI, APOLOGETICALLY:**

**“She loved you so much.”**

**********************************************************************

 

October came faster than it should, and with it, came the Rostelecom Cup. Yuri had everything down, all the way to the little curve of his fingers when he’d twist his hand, but he didn’t feel ready nor prepared at all. He hadn’t seen Otabek yet since he showed up to the hotel late, and he wouldn’t have free time again until after the competition was over.

He thanked God that texting existed, but he was super excited to see him in person again – it’s been months. Way too long. And he didn’t see him until the competition, when they collided in the locker rooms. Hugs came and went, and to Yuri the meeting felt way too short, but he had to perform, and very soon.

He was anxious; this would be the only big competition where he would skate against Viktor and Yuuri until the Grand Prix Final. The both of them have been completely dominating in whatever competition they were in, which scared Yuri to complete _shit._ He knew he would be lucky if he even made it to the podium, much less win.

Otabek’s short program was before his own, and it was incredibly captivating to watch. He skated to a newly composed piece, one made just for him. Yuri was equal parts intrigued by the movements in his skating as well as the flow of the piece – it had a rougher tone about it, like struggle. Was he struggling?

_Struggling to do what?_

When it was finished, Otabek currently was in fourth place, and a higher place was much deserved.

When Yuri stepped onto the ice, he gave a small thumbs up to his friend at the kiss and cry before gliding on, prepared to legitimately perform The Book Thief for the first time. Yuri’s costume was more on the simple side, taking inspiration from the movie and having the costume the same as Liesel in the movie cover – the one where she’s cradling her book to her chest with both arms. He was originally going to do her Hitler Youth uniform, but Yakov dismissed it to avoid controversy, even if it would be a more powerful costume. Of course, it was a variant and not the actual costume itself – it was more practical and flashy on the ice, but still simple, and still with the same meaning.

The skate started small, a simple, elegant display, before it transformed into the story of the Book Thief, the story of how Death watched her – how Death was haunted by her – how he held onto her, just like everyone else, by a string. In this case, he wasn’t skating for anyone, other than conveying a story he loved through a method he loved. He wouldn’t be the first skater to do so, and he most definitely wouldn’t be the last.

He finished melodically, the crowd in applause as he glided off the ice with shaky knees. He was currently in third, right behind Viktor and Yuuri.

_Shit._

Above anything else, he had to beat Viktor. He wouldn’t mind losing if it meant losing to Otabek Altin – a god with gold on his name.

Free skates came and went with a blur, the only one Yuri truly focused on and remembered was Otabek’s, of course, and he remembered being mesmerised. He skated to a beautiful piece called “Saturn” by Sleeping at Last, trimmed by only about fifteen seconds to fit the time limit; his costume was a cluster of stars – galaxies and constellations swirled around his body and spiralled down his arms. It was breath-taking, and there were sequins wherever there was a star, so he was absolutely stunning in the light.

He was a universe – he was god – and god, did he leave Yuri floating amongst the stars.

The piece started as an instrumental, before it moved into the lyrics themselves, and they told a story – a story of love, a beautiful story of that one person in life that reminds you what it feels like to live. He remembered in an interview Otabek revealed that the theme of his season was love. With that in mind, Yuri noticed that he was skating for someone, too.

_You taught me the courage of stars before you left._

_How light carries on endlessly, even after death._

_With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite._

_How rare and beautiful it is to even exist._

Yuri felt whole for a moment, watching Otabek skate to this. He felt lighter and he felt himself longing – just a little bit more – for his best friend. As he watched, Yuri made a simple wish: he wished that Otabek was skating for him.

Not knowing that he was.

 

**********************************************************************

**HISTORY TO SKATING AND HISTORY TO KAZAKHSTAN:**

**Otabek Altin won gold.**

**********************************************************************

 

Otabek’s birthday was literally a week after the Rostelecom Cup, so he decided he wanted to spend the week with Yuri in St. Petersburg and then go home the day after his birthday to celebrate it with his family and friends there. Yuri originally wanted him to leave a day before since his birthday should be celebrated with people that were special, Otabek simply shook his head and said, “Well, you’re special to me too, Yura.”

It felt like life was constantly toying with him, teasing him like a cat with a cornered mouse. Otabek would never know just how special he was to Yuri – and he was a very particular kind of special.

That night, he remembered that they were going to share a bed again and his heart flipped once more, his body _craving_ what it had been starved of for his whole life. He had to do something, even if it wasn’t true – even if didn’t work, it was worth a shot, for the off chance that _maybe_ –

“Hey, Beka, I just wanna warn you of something so you don’t freak out,” Yuri said as he watched his friend get dressed for bed (which consisted of putting on pyjama pants and taking his shirt off _help_ ). Otabek looked over with both eyebrows raised, indicating he was listening. “Here recently I’ve started getting really cuddly in my sleep so if I end up on you when we wake up just know that wasn’t me.”

Otabek just laughed and nodded. “I don’t mind. Just letting _you_ know that my body may react and just cuddle right back.”

_Holy shit!_

Something in the back of Yuri’s head told him that he was lying, too, but he didn’t want to think on the possibility of the impossible. Life was too much of a sadist for that kind of possibility. Yuri just nodded, keeping his cool on the outside while on the inside he felt like he was going to burst.

When they climbed into bed together, he waited, waiting until the moment when he was sure Otabek was asleep before he turned, curling up against his chest and taking a deep, shaky breath. His skin was warm despite the chill in the air, and his breathing exhaled like music, his heart drumming the rhythm behind it all – it was a lullaby Yuri could listen to every single night. He felt a pang in his heart that he would only get to this by lying, by playing pretend, because he knew it would never happen in his reality.

But then, Otabek shifted. Yuri’s breath hitched in his throat as he felt Otabek turn to his side, pulling Yuri closer and wrapping his arms around the boy. They nuzzled close, taking in each other’s scent, and in that moment, trapped in his best friend’s arms, Yuri learned what heaven feels like. It was blissful, it was peaceful, and he couldn’t help himself from smiling softly as he closed his eyes.

 

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**ONE THING THEY DIDN’T KNOW:**

**Neither of them were asleep.**

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to have the whole week with Yuri and Otabek in this chapter, but I decided I needed some more substance for my next chapter, so I cut it here!! I know this chapter was a little darker, and that’s why I had everything else in there to lighten it up as best as I could. I hope you enjoyed it!! I’m super excited to continue this on in future chapters and I’m so happy with all the responses I’ve been getting. Thank you so so so much!!  
> -Elena


	9. Groupthink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language, brief brief brief mentions of abuse and death  
> SONGS/ARTISTS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: My String Theory Playlist!  
> I just want to say that I love reading your comments and nothing warms my heart more than reading what you think of the chapters so far! I love you guys so much and you all mean the world to me – thank you so so much for reading, I hope you enjoy this new chapter. <3  
> -Elena

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**THE NAME OF THE CAFÉ:**

**The Coffeeshop Company.**

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It was the same one as before, but thankfully this time Viktor didn’t drop by the window with groceries and rudely interrupted them to make them come visit. This time, they actually got to enjoy the little coffee cakes and drinks they ordered along with it. Yuri was sure Otabek wasn’t quite human at this rate, since he was on coffee number what, three? How does one drink so much coffee and not stay up every waking hour of the night? He didn’t understand – he preferred tea over it anyway.

“I made something new and I want you to listen to it with me,” Otabek requested, taking out his same red headphones as before, and handing them over after he plugged them into his phone. Yuri took one and tucked it into his ear, waiting for music to pour into the drum.

When play was tapped, suddenly Yuri could hear it – an orchestra along with a unique pairing of lyrics and hints of rock; it sounded like it should never go together, but Otabek made it work, and the voice he heard was familiar, but all too foreign. It quickly became his new favourite song, as a matter of fact.

“It’s…different, but I like it,” Yuri said. He felt his foot wiggle along with the melody. “What’s the title?”

“Yuratchka.”

_Oh._

Instantly, Yuri was blushing, looking up at his best friend, noticing that the rather stoic Kazakh had shades of dark pink tinting at his olive skin. He looked so much softer, and the smile he carried was about to make the Russian melt.

“You named it after me?” Yuri asked, his mouth slightly parted open in disbelief.

“It’s dedicated to you.”

Yuri felt his face heat up and flush an even deeper shade of red, only for him to just smile sheepishly and look down at his feet beneath the table. “That’s…really sweet of you. Thank you.” Yuri held onto the earbud, leaning a little more into it as he listened to the piece fondly. “Send it to me,” he said after it was finished. “I want to skate to it for you.”

Otabek smiled, nodding slightly as he tapped his screen a few times, then shortly after he placed his phone back onto the table, the app still bright as their texts were encompassing the screen; Yuri heard the ding sound on his phone to indicate a text. He also noticed that his name was changed at the top of the text screen.

_Жаным._

“Does Zhanym mean something else in Kazakh or are you saying I’m greedy?”

Otabek hummed slightly with a rising intonation to ask what he meant without speaking it, and Yuri pointed to his phone. “Oh,” he said. He paused for a moment, thinking on what to say next before he just shrugged. “It’s hard to translate. It like, means friend? Kinda? You hear it all the time in Kazakhstan.”

Yuri let out a soft ‘aww’ before they moved on and continued talking, as if he never changed the name at all.

 

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**IT WASN’T HARD TO TRANSLATE:**

**Zhanym means “my soul.”**

**********************************************************************

 

With Otabek gone, training felt almost hellish. There was a loneliness there that he hadn’t felt before, and his chest was growing tighter and tighter by the hour. He was almost certain that by the time he would see his friend again in a month, he would coil into the tightest, tangled knot that started in his chest.

Yuri was having a harder time keeping his balance, as if it was the first time he’s skated in years – it had only been six days, not even a full week – but he forced himself to continue anyway. He felt like he was going to slip at any moment, that in the slightest turn of his wrist his body would be a wrangled mess on the floor, sinking into the ice.

Why did he let this happen?

He declared as a young child love didn’t exist – that it _shouldn’t_ exist. He was _aromantic,_ for fucks sake, this wasn’t supposed to happen! But it happened, and there he was in the universe, scrambled among the stars, bumping into asteroids.

Yuri turned, and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, feeling nothing for a moment before an intense, gnawing pain rushed through his body and flooded into his head. He groaned softly, his vision fuzzy and not even registering that suddenly there was a circle of people around him that he didn’t even recognize. The voices that came into his ears were similar, as if he heard them, but he hadn’t – not in a long time.

“Don’t circle him, don’t circle him,” a voice came, and suddenly the blobs around him shifted slightly. “Guys, _move._ ”

When they moved away, another figure came into his vision, helping pick him up into his arms to help him stand. “Come on, Yuri, get up, we gotta get you off the ice.”

“Beka?” Yuri whined slightly.

“No, it’s Viktor. Come on, try to stand.”

Yuri didn’t know how, but suddenly he was upright, arms guiding him along until he was passed onto a different set of arms.

“Beka?” Yuri asked again, a little less hopeful.

“No, fool.” Yakov. Definitely Yakov. Yuri keeled over, suddenly even more sick than he was before. “You’re not skating for the rest of the week. Go home and sleep and avoid your phone and anything loud. I know that’s hard for you, but make it work.”

“Do you really think sending him to Moscow is a good idea?” Viktor asked.

“I meant _Lilia’s_ , you idiot,” Yakov groaned. Something was whispered, and suddenly there was silence for a brief moment. “Well, where the hell do you want him to go then?”

“I’ll take him to our new apartment. We have a spare room he can stay in.”

Yuri vomited.

“I think, first and foremost, he needs a hospital.”

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/36412933803/in/dateposted-public/)

Night time always hurt the most. The moon reminded him of the time they kissed, the time he almost thought that they could be, the time he’s once again reminded he’s destined to die alone. It hurt. His lips were left tingling with crave and his head pounded along with his heart in a desperate desire to heal, to live, to fly.

The moon told him he would have no wings.

It hurt.

It was equal parts humiliation and poison in his bloodstream. Yuri felt so sick – and not just from his concussion – but by _knowing;_ by hearing Viktor and Yuuri make love in the next room over, by not even knowing who he is anymore, by feeling his chest coil up so tight he was sure it was going to shred him in half. By knowing all of this was going to be for _absolutely nothing,_ Yuri couldn’t stop himself.

He just sobbed.

Curled up, knees to his chest, the pillow beneath his eyes growing damp, his mouth losing moisture, Yuri laid in the moonlight and cried. But this time, he didn’t call Otabek about it – he couldn’t call Otabek.

After all, it was his fault.

Love scared him to bits; his only exposure had been with his rink mates, and that was only here recently. Before then? Divorce. Cold, unflinching malice that never lasts – or, in his mother’s case, abuse. His grandparents lasted, but that was until Grandpa woke up one day to find his wife next to him, dead.

He was so scared that if – the very, very unrealistic off-chance of _if_ – things end up working out between him and Otabek, how would he be? Would they last? Would Yuri be doing this relationship thing anywhere near correctly?

Would he turn into his mother?

That scared him the most. It was a sick and cruel thing, life was, a sick and cruel thing, to hurt him in this way. It was ironic, in a sadistic turn of events, that Yuri swore in his whole life that he would never fall in love – and he plummets down to rock bottom for his best friend.

In between his quietly muffled sobs, Yuri heard a gentle knock at the door.

“Yuri? Are you alright?” It was Yuuri. That was definitely Yuuri.

“Leave me alone.” Yuri hoped that the pain wasn’t audible in his voice, that the man on the other side of the door couldn’t hear the sob that ripped through his throat shortly after he said it. He did. There was a brief silence, before he heard a different knock at the door. Must be Viktor. It was. “I said leave me alone.”

“Yuuri got me.”

“What the hell do you want?” Yuri kind of hoped that he wouldn’t be left alone, but at the same time he had already shed too many tears recently. Nobody should see him shed any more, but that idea was best kept tucked away in his head.

Viktor’s voice was soft and gentle. “I want to talk to you.”

“Viktor this better be really fucking important.”

The door creaked open, and Viktor stepped in quietly, closing the door behind him as he walked to the crying boy. He sat on the edge of the bed, not saying anything at first, before his hand reached out to pull Yuri up comfortingly. Yuri swatted his hand away, and just stayed how he was, cradling a pillow to his chest instead of his knees now, but he was still in a foetal position. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“No, I’m not. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Yuri snapped. “It’s not like you’ll fucking understand it anyway. Just leave me alone.”

“Just talk to me, Yuri.”

Yuri groaned loudly, sitting up finally and looking to Viktor. He was shirtless, and there was a very thin coat of sweat on his skin. He felt a pang of jealousy, even if the idea of sex was irrelevant to him and his idea of a good relationship. It was just another reminder that life was rubbing it in his face ( _“Look what the other Yuuri has that you don’t,”_ it said). He raised his voice, something the older Russian was very used to hearing already at this point. “Why? Do you _like_ sitting there and watching me? Do you get off on it?”

“ _Yuri_ —”

“—And even if I did tell you, it’s not like you’ll ever be able to relate. You’ve got _everything_ you want. You have your whole life handed to you. Your life is so pretty and wrapped up in a _perfect_ little bow and you’re never scared. You just do things, and you get what you want,” Yuri was still crying, but his cries choked up in his throat, ripping through his voice and cracking him. The anger in his voice was real, but so was the pain. “You can tell me you understand all you want, but you won’t. You’ve _got_ what you want. You can’t tell me that you didn’t.”

“ _Bratishka_ , just…” Viktor’s hands reached over and wiped away his tears, even though new ones came and took their place. “Just talk to me. Please.”

Yuri took in a shaky and ragged breath, roughly wiping at his face and still holding the pillow close to him. He wished it was someone. Someone else. “It’s Otabek.”

Viktor paused, before his voice went stern, his protective older brother instinct kicking in for the boy on the bed. “Did he hurt you?”

“No—”

“—Did he—”

“— _No!_ He didn’t do anything, I swear! I mean, at least, anything directly. It’s a lot more complicated than that.” Viktor raised an eyebrow, and finally, Yuri confessed something that everyone already knew. “I love him.”

“That’s all?” It almost sounded mocking.

“No, you don’t understand, I _love_ him. I’m _in_ love with him,” Yuri said. Viktor only repeated his question, and the tears returned onto the boy’s face. “God damn it all. I _hate_ this! I hate what he does to me and I hate him so much for it!” Sometimes, the most beautiful things Viktor Nikiforov ever does is just be quiet. This was one of those times, he just sat and listened and let Yuri pour out everything he had been holding in for so long. “He doesn’t even fucking know, either. That makes this _so_ much better. I hate it…I hate all of it…”

There was a heavy silence, before a sob ripped through him, and the words out of his mouth seared itself into Viktor’s mind, a permanent scar in his memory.

_“I love him, Vitya. I love him and I can’t have him.”_

 

* * *

 

The next night was just as painful, but they Skyped this time, so it didn’t hurt as bad.

“Can we just, Skype every day?” Yuri asked. It was probably the most bold and upfront thing he had ever asked. “I miss you tons.”

“Honestly, I was thinking the same thing,” Otabek laughed slightly. “But there will be times where I’ll be a little late because I have weekly Skype calls with the family. I’m like, shamed hardcore if I miss one.”

“On a scale of your coach making you do a commercial to the cashier asking if you want to donate to your local children’s hospital, how badly do they guilt trip you?” Yuri reached off screen and took a sip of his chai – it was from the Middle East, apparently, and it tasted really good. It smelled even better.

“Undertale.”

The drink spewed from Yuri’s mouth as he burst into laughter. He didn’t expect that answer, let alone that quickly. “Rest in fucking pieces, Beka.”

Otabek just chuckled and shrugged. A loud thud was heard on the call, and Yuri immediately winced and lowered his volume. On the other end, his friend looked offscreen before just sighing and looking back. “Sorry about that. You alright?”

The pain flared up in Yuri’s head again, so no, not really, but thanks for asking. “I have a mild concussion, so easy with the loud noises.”

Otabek made a face, before quickly turning up his mic sensitivity and speaking really quiet now. “What happened? Are you going to be okay?”

“I said mild, genius,” Yuri laughed. “And I’m alright. I just fell and hit my head during practice, so Yakov sent me home for a week. For the next six days I have nothing to do except wallow in my own self-pity.”

His friend paused for a second, before checking a few things on his laptop, like he had the best idea in the world. He smiled at something on the screen, before looking back to the camera. “Hey, did he say anything against you flying on a plane?”

“I mean, no, but I heard it makes symptoms worse.”

“It does,” Otabek admitted. “But I was thinking, since I won’t see you until the Grand Prix Final next month, you can come visit me in Almaty for a few days.”

 _Fuck symptoms._ “That sounds awesome. Let me buy the tickets,” Yuri started to say, before Otabek shook his head.

“I’ll cover it. Don’t worry about it.”

Fucking hell he was generous. “Are you sure?”

“Yuri, save your money. I have money to burn.” He didn’t mean it in a spoiled kind of way, but he didn’t want to say he could tell from his brief visit in Moscow his grandpa didn’t make a lot of money, while he and his family were set and well off.

Yuri pulled up the website with tickets, and he just sighed. “Burn your money, then. Book me for the soonest flight.”

“That’s in three hours.”

_“I’ll see you then.”_

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/37524995792/in/dateposted-public/)

“I mean, with your concussion, I know typically loud things don’t help, and I know your head is probably killing you. I’ve got painkillers at home but I don’t want to worsen it so,” Otabek didn’t finish his sentence as he handed a pair of earplugs over to his friend.

_He’s the biggest fucking teddy bear ever oh my God._

“Thank you,” Yuri smiled as he took them, walking with his best friend out of the airport. He didn’t bring much, just a pair of jeans (that he was wearing) that he was going to rewear a bunch of times and a grand total of three shirts. The most he brought was underwear because, well, not changing your underwear daily is nasty. For non-skating-related trips, Yuri typically sticks with packing with a backpack – it saves money with luggage and it takes up less space. Plus, it takes up less time grabbing his things and just ditching the airport. When they walked out, he noticed he was going to be riding the motorbike. He felt a rush of joy when he saw it, and that’s when he had an idea after he put in his earplugs. “Hey, one of them is a little loose.”

They sat on the bike, and Otabek just shrugged. “Hold it in place?”

Yuri playfully punched him before wrapping his arms around him from behind. “I have to hold onto you so I don’t fall off, dumbass.” There was a pause, and Yuri was almost certain he could _hear_ Otabek thinking the same thing. He turned his head and placed his ear to his back, gently resting his head there and smiling softly. “There we go.”

Otabek didn’t say anything, but he did smile just a little as he started the bike and started to drive to his home. Almaty was beautiful in the evening, and the way the sun was falling behind the skyline reminded him of Barcelona. Yuri felt so calm – so at ease – like the world had peace in it for once, like everything was going to be alright. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, there was power in the man he held, and his power had this boy under his thumb.

They drove on, through little alleyways and along large roads. Otabek was trying to be subtle about it, but he purposely was taking the longest route possible and hoped that Yuri didn’t know any better. Yuri didn’t care.

The bike was loud, and the road was louder. Yuri could have said anything he wanted – Otabek could have said anything he desired – and their voices would be lost into the wind, flying away and floating into the clouds. But, even though Yuri took advantage, even though his words soared into the sky, there was a factor he didn’t think about that would come and bite him in the ass.

 

**********************************************************************

**THE WORDS WERE IN THE CLOUDS:**

**But it has to rain sometime.**

**********************************************************************

 

No matter how hard he would try, no matter how long it had been and how long he would think, Yuri would never remember what happened in that week at Almaty. The only time when time slowed was at night, when they held each other pretending to be asleep, when the moon would mock him about what would never come.

“I love you,” he whispered once, but he was too quiet, and the other was not awake.

There was one moonlight where Yuri held Otabek a little tighter, a little closer – a little more at stake. His best friend groaned softly, nuzzling his nose into Yuri’s hair and taking a deep breath. “Yura,” he moaned gruffly, very groggy. It was a question. There was intonation.

Yuri froze, before his eyes quickly clenched shut and he pretended to sleep as his friend pulled him closer. “What’s wrong?” Otabek asked him, his voice still very groggy and he was not at all thinking clearly.

There was a pause, before Yuri asked in the best sleepy voice he could muster, “We’re going to be together forever, right?” He hoped it was especially vague – so that in the off chance of Otabek remembering this conversation, it didn’t give him away.

“Of course, _zhanym,_ ” he mumbled with a slight chuckle. “I’ll be with you forever and always.”

_Forever and always._

It sounded cliché as hell, but Yuri couldn’t help his heart from fluttering at it, and before he could say anything in response, his friend was already asleep, his heartbeat smooth beneath his chest. A hand came up to Yuri’s head, as if it was going to push his hair away from his face like it had dreamed about so many times before, but it paused, and it faltered, before finally it just twisted and rested back on his side.

Not tonight.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/37524995902/in/dateposted-public/)

The Grand Prix Final was definitely something Yuri had been dreading since the beginning of the season, but once he arrived in Japan prepared to lose, it didn’t feel so bad. He started a new way of training that’s been proven helpful with the past few competitions: aim for perfection, but expect the worst. It was pessimistic as hell, sure, but it not only kept him working hard, but it also made him fairly surprised when he _didn’t_ get the worst.

Needless to say when he passed that information onto Katsudon he noticed a subtle change in his anxiety.

While he waited for his turn, headphones in ears, Yuri noticed that he was listening to the Arctic Monkeys a lot more often since his mind associated it with Otabek. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the Kazakh was hijacking his music taste, too.

He noticed, as he was watching the skates, that Viktor and Yuuri were pretty much passive aggressively communicating to each other in their skates, while at the same time it was so loving and elegant (despite Viktor falling during his skate, which hadn’t happened since his junior days). Anybody that didn’t have to deal with them any day out of the week would think that they were skating for each other – and they were, to an extent, but Yuri could have sworn at some point the Katsudon told his fiancé to do the fucking dishes.

It made him wonder, if he was able to decipher what they were roughly saying to each other with loose flips and vague hand gestures, he couldn’t help but want to ask Otabek who he was skating for. What was he trying to say?

_I couldn’t help but ask_

_For you to say it all again._

_I tried to write it down_

_But I could never find a pen._

_I’d give anything to hear_

_You say it one more time,_

_That the universe was made_

_Just to be seen by my eyes._

Yuri felt like he needed a translator – for the lyrics, for the movements. Everything was screaming for someone, and painfully so, but he had no idea where to even begin on what Otabek was trying to say and what it would even mean. It felt even more powerful watching it this second time around, the movements filled with even more passion and desire than it was the first time he saw this performed.

It was like he was pining over someone.

Yuri was sure that if his love for Otabek wasn’t obvious before, it was going to be after he got onto the ice. He was almost certain more and more of his love was going to leak out into Luminous during his skate, but his mind was split into two parts: the side that wanted Otabek to see the skate and understand, and the side that wanted him in the dark.

Thankfully and unfortunately, Otabek won’t see Yuri skate to Luminous until the Olympics.

His ending pose changed this time when he performed it, instead of folding his arms to look like wings as he looked to the sky, he reached his arms up to the heavens, as if he were begging for help.

Yuri was, in fact, begging.

 

**********************************************************************

**A WIN AND A LOSS:**

**Yuri Plisetsky won silver.**

**********************************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like metaphors sorry there’s so many sorry not sorry at all I felt really artsy during this chapter okay fight me. But really! Thank you so much for reading this and I hope you enjoyed it!!  
> -Elena


	10. Weber's Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language, underage drinking, another very brief mention of Natasha™, moments of angst and also fluff to counteract it.  
> SONGS/ARTISTS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: Nothing in particular, a lot of various things.  
> I have been so inspired to write here recently, especially for this fic, and I think it has a lot to do with you guys and all your love and support. So I just want to say thank you for everything you do, and thank you for inspiring me to continue to write. I love you guys so much, thank you <3 Anyways! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it!!  
> -Elena

**********************************************************************

**SINCE BARCELONA:**

**It had been one year.**

**********************************************************************

The banquet was quite the celebration after the Grand Prix Final finished; Yuuri Katsuki was praised for winning his first gold, and his elated fiancé most definitely was giving him champagne to celebrate. It was also the first time in history where Kazakhstan made it to the podium – the first time in history where the great Viktor Nikiforov didn’t even make a spot.

“Was the pig a little too rough on you last night?” Yuri smirked to Viktor as they were in line to fill their plates with food.

Viktor snorted. “No, I just fell a couple times.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that out of you. Your balance hasn’t been that bad since your junior days,” Yuri finally got to the food, and he started with a piece of cake. He raised an eyebrow up at the older skater. “Are you sure you weren’t just…letting it happen?”

“We made a deal that if he wins gold five times, we would get married, and he’s alright a fifth of the way there.” Viktor smiled fondly, looking over to Yuuri at the front of the line before he looked back to the buffet to start getting himself some food.

“That didn’t answer my question, Viktor,” Yuri smirked. “Well…did you?”

Viktor paused for a moment and looked down at the younger skater, a small grin tugging at the edge of his lips. “I just want to get married.”

“Gross,” Yuri laughed.

Viktor nudged his arm with his elbow. “Don’t try to tell me that if Otabek asked you to stop skating tomorrow so that you two could get together, you wouldn’t.” Upon seeing Yuri’s coy smile disappear as he pursed his lips together, he smirked. “Exactly.”

“Love sucks sometimes,” Yuri sighed as he reached the end of the table, his plate full of food by this point. He looked around, finding Otabek alone at a table with one other chair that he was clearly saving. He turned back to Viktor and just gave him a sly grin, speaking with sarcasm. “Congratulations on your gold.” He looked down at his fingers – not gloved – and that’s when Viktor knew he wasn’t talking about the medal.

Yuri sat his plate across from Otabek’s and sat down in the seat he saved. He noticed, that finally Otabek had a glass of champagne. Yuri chuckled at the sight as he started to eat, and his friend across the table shrugged.

“Hey, I won bronze and I’m legal, might as well,” he laughed slightly as he took a sip of the champagne. “Congratulations on your silver. I think you deserved better, though.”

Yuri just shrugged. “Everyone loves a good underdog story, and Katsudon is definitely an underdog, but thank you. Congratulations on bronze.” He then noticed something in between buns on Otabek’s plate – it looked like shredded chicken with some kind of gravy on it. He pointed to it with his fork. “What the hell is that culinary monstrosity?”

Otabek looked to where he was pointing and he instantly shook his head. “It’s barbecue pork. JJ made some for everyone – I had some when I trained with him in Canada and it’s divine,” he said. He pushed the plate over. “Try it.”

“What’s that brown stuff on it?”

“That’s the barbecue,” Otabek said. “It’s really good.”

“No, I know what barbecue is, I’m talking about the sauce,” Yuri prodded at it with his fork and took a small taste. There wasn’t much to taste, so all his tongue could pick up was a smoky twang. “We don’t have this in Russia, whatever it is.”

“It’s called barbecue sauce. You don’t have barbecue sauce?” Otabek asked, almost excited that he was going to get his best friend to try something like this. Yuri shook his head, and Otabek smiled like a child showing their parents the next drawing they made to be put on the fridge. “Try it, you’ll love it. I had different types of this in America, but JJ’s takes the cake.”

Yuri picked it up, some bits of pork sliding off the buns, which weirded him out slightly, but he took a large bite. The smokiness was still there, but it was also just juicy enough to where it wasn’t messy. It was just as good as Otabek said it would be. “Goddamn, Russia, step up your game here,” he moaned softly with a mouthful of the food.

“Do you and the sandwich need a minute?” Otabek laughed. Yuri nodded slowly, closing his eyes and enjoying the taste. Otabek shook his head with a large smile and pulled his plate back, getting up for a moment to get himself a new sandwich. When he sat back down, Yuri was already practically finished. He just laughed again and started to eat. “I have a surprise for you when you’re done.”

Yuri hummed with a raised eyebrow, moving on to the side salad on his plate now. “What is it?”

“I can’t give it to you here.”

_Please be a kiss. Please be your lips. Please, even if it’s your dick, please be you._

When they finished, Otabek gestured for Yuri to stand with him, and he guided them both out to a private little balcony, just underneath the stars. “Stay here,” he said, before he walked back inside. It was a moment, before Otabek came back, quickly looking around before he smiled and closed the door behind him. There was a soft, muffled drumming of music in their background, and he walked next to Yuri, extending his arm – his hand held a glass of champagne.

Yuri smiled slightly as he took the glass, and clinked it against Otabek’s before he took a small drink. The crisp and sparkling liquid flowed across his tongue, and in a way it reminded him of the wine he took for communion.

“Thank you,” Yuri said. There was a bite in the Japan air, a type of cold that – had it not been for their suits – they would probably be shivering just a little in. He leaned against the balcony and looked over at Otabek, behind him the moon and its stars, and he admired the picture painted in front of his eyes. “It’s almost like a sappy love story you’d see in a movie,” he commented.

“The only thing we need to do is dance with each other,” Otabek jokingly laughed, not noticing the other boy staring at him as if he was a work of art. “Which, I’m not opposed to.”

“I’m not either,” Yuri immediately replied, but then had to instantly play it cool. “But I’ve never danced with someone before.” Bullshit – he just knew Otabek wasn’t at the banquet where Katsudon was drunk off his ass and gave everybody a _great_ time that night.

“I can teach you if you want.”

“Sure.”

Otabek smiled, finishing his glass of champagne and putting it down on the side, doing the same for Yuri when he finished his. He walked over, taking Yuri’s hands gently and pulling their bodies close together. There was simple instructions: hand on shoulder, hand on waist, other hands holding. Yuri was almost certain Otabek could feel his heart hammering in his chest once they started to sway.

“It’s missing something,” Yuri whispered quietly as their eyes were locked.

Otabek nodded softly, before he decided to take the chance. “Typically, in these scenes, I’m supposed to kiss you.” There was a pause, where Yuri was hoping, _praying_ to any and all gods out there to let this happen. “May I?”

Yuri smiled, not even caring at all that Otabek may not remember this when he’s sobered, not paying attention to the fact that this is probably never going to happen again. All he knew was this: It was either magic, it was either god. Something was there and it was very, very real.  

“Sure.”

 

**********************************************************************

**THE SOFTNESS OF LIPS:**

**The taste of champagne.**

**********************************************************************

 

The Lilacs made a return to the table vase despite it not being spring. It was a particular time in late January where things were harsh and cold and completely laid out in a greyish snow – people at this time were the exact same way. Snow and rain were the centrepiece of the table outside, while the one inside bloomed of spring.

At first, Yuri didn’t pay any mind to it, walking past the table as he normally does every time he goes upstairs to his room. However, the second time passing by caught his attention, but he didn’t have the time to sit and use a careful eye. After a little while they had withered, and they had died, crumbling apart the moment fingers rustled through the branch.

It was disappointing, but Yuri should have known than to wait that long – it’s how all flowers were, after all. But, within the next week, Yuri noticed, they were quickly replaced with a new, fresh set.

This time, he did not waste time.

It was an early release from practice that day – Yakov had a murderous headache that came sooner than normal – and Yuri took this opportunity to sit in front of the table, taking the vase into his lap and letting his fingers graze through the petals and leaves. His eyes were refreshed, a new set of flowers meant a new puzzle to play with, a new chance at winning the five petals.

_Four._

_Four._

_Four._

_Four._

“Yurochka,” Lilia yelled from the top of the stairs. “Answer your damn phone before I throw it away.”

Yuri didn’t hear it at first, but then the ringing came again and he scrambled to pick it up, not paying attention to the caller ID. “Hello?” he greeted, leaning back and keeping the phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder as he looked through the lilacs.

“Hey, bad time?” It was Otabek’s voice on the other end, which made Yuri smile a little, his cheek pressing deeper into the phone.

“Nah, I just tuned you out, my bad,” He admitted with a laugh. “What’s up?”

“Gee thanks,” Otabek paused. “It’s just…Something popped up on our fan page that everyone is sending to me and I was just wanting to see that you were okay.”

Yuri was already scared to hear about what he was talking about. “I’m perfectly fine, what’s going around?”

“That you went to a funeral.” Yuri’s breath hitched, and Otabek waited, before filling in the silence. “There were a few pictures of you talking to some woman in front of the funeral home. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Yuri stayed quiet, remembering just how much he _hated_ the Angels sometimes – how they were constantly invading his privacy and doing anything they could to find any proof of their fucking stupid ass ships and any content they could use in their next “Imagine Yuri” post. They were the definition of cringe at its finest, and it seemed no matter how many times he would try to tell them that what they’re doing is _wrong,_ only a small portion would actually listen and apologise. It felt that they never cared to begin with.

“I’m fine,” Yuri’s voice was cold now. “It wasn’t anybody important. It was someone my Grandpa was fairly close with, and I went with him.”

Otabek was suspicious – he knew Yuri better than that and he knew there was a lot more going on with his family than what he would reveal. “Who was it?” he asked.

“Someone,” Yuri said again.

 _“Yuri,”_ Otabek took a deep breath on the other line, and paused. “You wouldn’t have gone if it was _just_ someone. You act like I don’t know you.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Yuri sighed as he slammed the vase back onto the table and took the phone in his hand. “It was just this woman in my family that fucked around with drugs and abused her family a lot. She wasn’t anybody important, and I only went because my Grandpa needed me.”

“That…” Otabek thought for a moment. It sounded like it was someone Yuri was definitely was close with in some way, and definitely knew better than what he let on. “That doesn’t make much sense.”

It doesn’t take a lot to make Yuri angry, but he never thought he would snap on Otabek – it was his mother’s fault, yet again. Everything wrong in his life was. “Why the fuck does it matter to you? You don’t have to be so god damn _nosy_ about it and maybe if you waited I would have _told_ you eventually.”

“What’s your problem? All I asked was who it was,” Otabek didn’t raise his voice.

“It was my fucking _mother,_ okay? Are you fucking happy now?”

There was a crisp chill in the air just then, and Yuri could almost feel the guilt rush on the other line. “I’m sorry, Yura,” Otabek said finally after a small shock. “I shouldn’t have…I can’t imagine…I’m sorry.”

Otabek heard three beeps in his ear, and the faintest sound of his own mother calling him downstairs for dinner.

 

 **Yuri Plisetsky  
** @yuri_plisetsky  
**No one mourns the wicked.**  
**1/19/18,  3:09 PM**  
 **1,038 Retweets           8,578 Likes**

The Olympics were crawling closer and closer by the day, and as a result a break from training didn’t exist. The only time Yuri really ever let himself rest at this point was when he had to sit down for lunch, and he always had to make it slow as possible so Yakov wouldn’t nag at him for making himself sick on the ice. The last thing he needed was to get dizzy and fall and get another concussion again.

One day, Yuuri couldn’t make it to practice – Viktor said he was gravely sick, but Yuri would later find out that he wasn’t going to let his fiancé go work after having an anxiety attack. He was going to stay with him, but Yuuri had insisted that he goes anyway (“I’m not dragging you down with me,” he had said.).

Yuri pulled out some leftover pirozhki he had in a brown paper bag and started to eat, noticing how Viktor kept staring at his food. He took a picture, then buried his face in his hands, almost crying in joy.

“Okay, so he made you lunch.” Yuri made a face, completely not amused by the sight in front of him.

Viktor pulled his face out of his hands, there were in fact tears on his face. “The rice is shaped like _bunnies_ ,” he sobbed dramatically. _“Bunnies!”_

Yuri felt his phone vibrate, and when he pulled it out noticed that it was Otabek. He unlocked the phone and left him on read. He didn’t know what else to do. It had been a week since they last talked, and both of them were aware as to why Yuri cut off contact. The last thing he wanted Otabek to know was his mother, because god damn would that make him even more undesirable than what he already is. He already has too much baggage.

“Yuri, you don’t look so good. Are you sick?”

Yuri looked up, and across the table Mila was eating some leftovers she brought in a Tupperware.

“No.” He said simply, turning back to his own food and hoping they’d drop the subject. They didn’t.

“Is something bothering you?” Mila asked.

“No,” he said again, but this time sharply and with a soft growl in his tone. Viktor looked at him for a moment and gave him a quiet scolding on his attitude. “Viktor,” he snapped to interrupt him. “Otabek knows.”

At first Viktor didn’t know what he meant, but upon further inspection of the teen’s glaring, he was able to figure out why it would spark anger. It was because, simply, Otabek didn’t know what he initially thought about – instead it was something much, much worse. A look of _oh shit_ formed on his face, and immediately he simply told Mila to drop it.

Yuri stayed quiet for a moment, seething at his food, before he just tossed the bag in the middle for anybody to take and he stomped up, striding out of the room with a loss of appetite.

 

 **Otabek Altin**  
@otabek-altin  
**Have you ever messed up so badly you can feel it in your chest and it just aches so much  
1/26/18, 7:16 PM**  
**14 Retweets                364 Likes**

Yuuri was a nervous man – this wasn’t news to anyone – his anxiety and tendency to overthink a harmless situation made him the key subject to being his own best coach and his own worst nightmare of a critic. Perhaps that’s why Yuri singled him out as a victim.

It was at their usual weekly meeting, at a nice little retro diner style restaurant this time, when Yuri finally was able to ask a question about a subject he had been avoiding ever since he fell in love.

“Hey,” he said simply, getting his attention to look up from the boy’s homework he was reviewing. “How did you get Viktor to like you even with the skeletons in your closet?”

Yuuri stared at him for a moment, confused as to what he was saying. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, your problems. Little parts of your life that you try to hide from the world. I know Viktor probably knows about those,” he said, and then repeated his question. “How did you get him to like you even though he knows about those?”

Yuuri laughed a little at the innocence of the question, and just shrugged. “It’s just something that comes with the package, I guess,” he said. He thought for a moment, his mind buzzing with a reason for why it happens. He shrugged again. “When you love someone, like, _really_ love someone, you tend not to care about those things.”

Yuri stayed quiet for a moment, letting the words sink into his head and trying to wrap his mind around the fact. He just couldn’t seem to understand _how_ someone could, but the more he thought about it the more he realised that despite Otabek’s flaws, he was willing to look past them all if it meant they could be together.

“Why?” Katsudon asked, and Yuri just shook his head and waved it off as a ‘just wondering’ kind of question. He didn’t pry, and turned back to reviewing the boy’s homework.

He felt his phone vibrate, and when he pulled it out, and it was Otabek again.

**> >Hey, this is the last time I’m going to bother you. I just want to say I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have pushed it and I didn’t mean for you to bring up something you didn’t want to talk about. I understand why you didn’t want to, and I feel like an ass for pushing you to say it, and I don’t know why you wouldn’t come talk to me about these kind of problems when that’s what I’m here for, but if it’s because of what I think it is, I have to tell you this: this doesn’t define you. Your mother’s choices and actions doesn’t reflect who you are, and this doesn’t change my opinion of you. If you don’t want pity, you won’t get pity from me. If you want to talk about it to me, you can talk about it to me. If you never want to talk to me again, then tell me. It’s what I’m here for, and I support you no matter what you say. Please take care of yourself, Yura. I’m really worried about you. **

Yuri read the message in silence, and he felt equal parts relieved and extremely guilty. He didn’t want to make such a mess out of this, but once again Natasha had to continually to royally fuck things up even while she was in the grave. But when he reread the message, he took a deep breath, and sent him a quick response.

**> >Can you Skype tonight?**

**********************************************************************

**YUURI LOOKED UP:**

**“Where did you learn to write about love like that?”**

**********************************************************************

 

Normally, Yuri was never worried or scared before a Skype call. This time, however, he was biting the skin around his nails once he saw the ringing screen. When it loaded, at first he didn’t see Otabek, but he could hear him.

“I can’t see you,” Yuri mumbled. He could faintly hear Otabek curse on the other end, clicking around on a few things before finally he could see his face encompass the screen. “I can now.”

Otabek took a deep breath, his face softening for a moment in their silence before he finally decided to speak first to address the elephant in the room. “Look, I’m sor—”

“—Don’t,” Yuri cut him off swiftly. “Don’t be. You were curious and I’m not mad.”

If there was a word for equal parts relief and confusion, that would describe the look on Otabek’s face just then. “You ignored me for almost two weeks.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” Yuri admitted. He felt vulnerable, small. He hated feeling so exposed, so _raw_. “I mean, what _could_ I do? My best friend finds out something I never wanted him to know about – something I was so scared of him finding out – and I’m almost certain he’d think less of me after that. It’s not really easy to say anything after that.”

“Why would you think I’d think less of you?” Otabek asked, almost hurt that a friend this close to him would think he would do something like that.

Yuri stayed quiet, and he didn’t want to admit that it was because everybody else seemed to do that.

“Yura,” he took a deep breath as he readjusted himself to sit up a little more so his face was clear and serious on the screen. “You could have _murdered_ someone and while I wouldn’t like what you did, I would still like you, you know? You didn’t even do anything.”

His smile was a little sad, and while the air felt lighter, it still felt heavy.

“I’m sorry,” Otabek said. “If you want, we can change the subject. We can drop your mother altogether and just pretend that this never happened if that’s what you want, okay?”

Yuri thought about it for a moment, before he shook his head. “That’s not going to fix it,” he admitted. “You want to ask questions, yes? Then do it. We’re going to talk this out like adults, we’re going to…” _Despite flaws, we’re going to be best friends anyway._

Otabek wanted to protest, but he knew that he was already treading on mighty thin ice when it came to the subject of Yuri’s mother, so he was going to continue to tread lightly and do what he was told to do. “Was that what you meant in Barcelona? When you moved in with your grandpa when you were about five? Was that why?”

Yuri nodded. “In those pictures of the funeral, the woman I was talking to was the officer that carried me out of that house the morning she was arrested.”

Otabek thought back to the photos, and he envisioned the woman as an officer, carrying a small child out of his home to take him away from a horrible mother. “What about your father?”

“I never knew him,” Yuri shrugged. “He ditched us shortly after I was born, and apparently that really fucked Natasha up. Grandpa told me she wasn’t always like that, and that changed when he was no longer around.”

“Asshole,” Otabek mumbled.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Yuri sighed. “I used to blame him for it all for a long time, but eventually I came to conclusion that she wasn’t exempt from any blame. Everything she did was a choice, and she continued to make that choice over and over again. She was just as much in the wrong as he was. It took me a while to get there, but I got there.”

Otabek took a deep breath, nodding, and when he exhaled his breath made crackles into the microphone that tickled the inside of Yuri’s ears. “How did she die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Heroin overdose,” he said, prompting a shrug from his friend on the other side as if he should have thought of that. Then, he remembered something that happened between the two of them months ago, something he never brought up since then. “Was that why you called me crying, that one night? And you just asked me to talk? Is that what that was about, her dying?”

Yuri shook his head. “She died after that. It was a different reason, but it was because of her. I had found out on Facebook that she had remarried and started a new family with a different son that she treated better than the world.”

“And she never told you?” Otabek actually looked and sounded betrayed by that, looking at the screen in shock. He was a family man, everyone that knew him for five minutes knew this, and so he was never able to understand how some families, especially mothers, could do something like that to their children.

“Never,” Yuri confirmed. “Why would she? After all I was a responsibility instead of a son.”

Otabek let out a sigh and leaned back in his seat. He couldn’t even imagine his mother looking at him without love in her eyes, much less do anything that Yuri’s mother had done. “Do you ever want to meet them?”

“I already did. The kid’s going to turn seven soon, and his father is one of those ‘always right’ types. They had no idea that Natasha even did heroin, apparently. She was the perfect wife and the perfect mother to them,” he said, his eyes glossing over with envy and a mixture of sadness and anger.

Otabek muttered something in Kazakh that sounded along the lines of a curse from deeply rooted disgust. He thought one more time before he asked, “is that what you wanted to tell me at the airport?”

_Fuck he remembered._

“No, that’s something else,” Yuri said, then quickly brushed it off and moved onto the next subject before he would think to ask about that. “So…yeah. That’s my mom,” he faked pride in his voice, and it was clearly meant to be sarcastic. “I should have told you sooner, I’m sorry.”

Otabek quickly shook his head and leaned closer to the screen, looking the camera directly in the eyes. “No, no, and no, Yura. You have no reason to be sorry for not wanting to tell me something like that. It’s heavy shit,” he said. “Does anybody else know?”

“Just Viktor and Yakov, and that’s because my Grandpa told Yakov and Yakov told Viktor, even though I didn’t want him to. Katsudon might know, I don’t know. Viktor said he didn’t know but I don’t know about that,” Yuri replied. “I know but just…I worried you and I turned it into a big deal because I was scared as to what you’d think and…” his voice stopped, but his breathing exhaled onwards.

“Yuri, listen to me,” Otabek spoke clearly, his voice stern and completely serious. “I _love_ you, okay? You’re my best friend and you mean a lot to me. I’m supposed to be here for you if you decided to tell me why you need me or not. That’s what friends are _for._ ”

Yuri stayed silent, his heart drumming after hearing Otabek say those words. But, as he listened to him continue speaking, his heart started to crack when he realised he meant those words platonically. Only this, and nothing more.

“I’m sorry that I made you bring all this up, and that I pushed the subject so hard—”

“ _—Beka—”_

“—But I want you to remember this: that I care about you, and your happiness and safety are important to me. If you need to talk, but you’re scared as to what I’d think, remember that I _don’t_ think,” he said. Yuri giggled at the words, and once Otabek understood why he let out a soft chuckle at them, too. “I mean that in the best way possible. I’m not going to change what I think of you for venting to me, Yura. If anything, I want you to vent to me, and I don’t want you to be scared of that.”

Yuri smiled softly, and then nodded. “You too,” was all he managed to say, which caused his friend to chuckle. There was a moment where Otabek said nothing, just simply watching the boy, his hand gently touching the screen, and thankfully his hand wasn’t visible to the camera so Yuri didn’t know what he was doing. Finally, Yuri caught him staring. “What?” He asked.

“You still have the unforgettable eyes of a soldier.”

* * *

 

The lilacs were close to dying now, and in a way it was bittersweet. They were still soft enough to eat in case good luck was found, but at the same time they were on the edge of falling off the stem they grew on, ready to float along and gently hover down to the ground.

Yuri paused at the bottom of the stairs, turning back to the withering flowers in the vase, before he decided to look one last time instead of going upstairs to go to bed. He walked to the table and sat in front of the vase, cradling it in his lap and his fingers started to dance between the petals.

His eyes were a lot more lackadaisical this time around, not really intensely looking because he knew he had to get some rest. The Olympics were right around the corner and he needed to be on the top of his game before he competes.

_Four._

_Four._

_Four._

There was a creak, a sharp click, and when Yuri looked up he saw Lilia standing at the other side of the table. She took a deep breath and gestured for her vase of flowers to go back on the centre of the table where they belong. He sighed, and he did as he was told.

“Go to bed, Yurochka. This next week is the most important week of training before you go off to PyeongChang. Besides, you don’t want to eat one of those, they look like they’d make you sick,” she turned her nose up at it as she looked through them herself. “I need to get something new tomorrow. What do you think, lilies? Tulips?”

Yuri just shrugged, standing up and starting to walk past her. However, something caught his eye when she rustled the leaf, and he quickly rushed back to the lilacs, separating them and noticing that his eye was, in fact, correct in what it saw.

_Five._

A five petaled lilac, right before his very eyes. Yuri smiled wide, picking the lilac off the branch and staring at it in awe. It was a pretty little flower, delicate and soft in his hand, and he gazed at the token of luck for a moment, studying its features. Lilia chuckled softly through her nose.

“Congrats, then,” she said. “Remember don’t tell anyone your wish, that’s bad luck.”

Yuri nodded, and walked upstairs, carrying the little flower up into his room as his mind buzzed with potential wishes. It was a one-time genie, and he had to make it count for something.

After a short while of thinking, Yuri took a deep breath, finally deciding on the wish he was going to make before sticking the tiny flower in his mouth, chewing softly and then swallowing it down with his eyes closed. His wish repeated over and over again until he finally covered himself in his blankets and drifting off to sleep.

 

**********************************************************************

**THE WISH:**

**_Please, make Otabek mine._ **

**********************************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! I’m getting really excited nearing the end because I have never finished a chaptered fic before, so this is an adventure from start to finish here and I can’t wait for the outcome, and I know you guys are going to love it!!! Thank you so much for reading!!  
> -Elena


	11. Luminous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language, a highly, highly suggestive scene that is mostly irrelevant to the plot  
> SONGS/ARTISTS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: A bunch of different ambient mixes on YouTube, my String Theory Playlist (I fixed it up again so it’s a lot shorter and easier for reading along) https://open.spotify.com/user/twijill/playlist/5SQXD7BbTbuim05reBK9kf (but I played Luminous on repeat while I was writing the scene!)  
> The article was photoshopped by me, and cosplay picture credits go to @princelingcat on garow.me!! Also, Yuri’s free skate was heavily inspired by Yulia Lipnitskaya’s Schindler’s List free skate, and his costume is a similar replica after seeing beautiful art by bigkroha on Tumblr of him wearing it. I actually muted her skate the moment Schindler’s List came on and played Luminous instead and watched it, and it was perfect. The only thing is at the end I decided to make Yuri’s spin longer and obviously his ending pose was different. So if you want an idea as to what is happening, play Luminous when she starts skating. It’s so moving and gorgeous and ahhhhh I actually teared up watching it because if you replace the song, the mood of the choreography is so different but it’s so good you know?? Ahhh sorry sorry I’ll stop rambling about how much I love this and leave you to it. Anyways, thank you so much for your comments and love and support. It means so much to me <3 Thank you so much for reading this chapter, and I hope you enjoy it!!  
> -Elena

**********************************************************************

**A REASSURING STAB IN THE CHEST:**

**The balcony kiss – left unspoken, left platonic – left a lingering tingle.**

**********************************************************************

Whoever said that the Olympics won’t be as bad as what he thought was absolutely right – it was _much_ worse. The pressure that Yuri felt was unlike anything he had ever felt before, but he knew that like the Grand Prix Final last season, his only concern would be Yuuri Katsuki. He was currently a better skater this season, and Yuri was working his ass off to take back the throne he made of ice at fifteen years old.

However, one thing Yuuri Katsuki will always be better at – that Yuri couldn’t beat – is the English language. Sure, he was fluent enough to communicate with others if needed, but there were things the Katsudon would say that just couldn’t make sense even if translated. Detroit really did a number on him, language and culture wise.

And here, it really showed.

It wasn’t a secret that interviews sucked, but group interviews were even worse. It was annoying and there was always clear favouritism from the journalist and it seemed that every single time one person would speak so much the others would never have a chance at the spotlight. This time, between Viktor, Katsudon, and Yuri, the talk show host expressed a very keen interest in Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuri didn’t mind. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk this time around, and hearing Viktor stumble in his English from time to time was a little funny. He couldn’t be perfect at everything, after all.

And then, there was a particular time, where he just forgot some words even existed. The question asked: “How would you describe your relationship with Yuuri Katsuki?”

“Oh, it’s wonderful!” Viktor swooned, smiling with his mouth in a heart shape. “Yuuri is my precious little…uh…” and then he stopped. There was a moment of silence, before he finally turned to Yuri and spoke in Russian. “What the hell is _krolik_ in English?”

“You think I know?” Yuri asked, gesturing to his fiancé sitting right next to him. “You would have better luck asking him that.”

“Did you forget a word?” Katsudon asked, in English. When Viktor nodded, he inhaled and readjusted himself in his seat. “Alright, what is it in Russian?”

 _“Krolik,”_ Viktor said.

Yuuri hummed out loud, thinking, then shaking his head. “Alright, I’m not familiar with that one. Describe it to me?”

“They’re like, cute and cuddly and they jump a lot,” Viktor described, bringing his hands up to his chest and curling them and imitating a slight hop in the seat. The audience laughed slightly, and he couldn’t help but chuckle along too. He tried his best. “They eat a lot of that orange vegetable.”

Laughter again, and Yuuri pursed his lips together but smiled through it anyway. “Carrots?”

“Yeah that. They eat a lot of carrots,” Viktor nodded.

“Rabbits?”

Viktor shook his head, and made a small cup with his hands. “They’re little, they’re like, babies, but they’re the same thing.”

Yuuri thought for a moment, before perking an eyebrow. “Bunnies?”

Viktor practically leapt out of his seat at that. “Yes, that’s it! Bunnies!” He laughed and turned back to the host. “Yuuri is my precious little bunny.”

Katsudon blushed, and Yuri groaned. The audience laughed at their reactions, and Yuri felt his phone vibrate. When he looked pulled it out of his pocket and peeked down at it, it was a text from Otabek.

**> >Look in the audience.**

Another came immediately after.

**> >Front row. To your right.**

Yuri’s head peeked up as the other skaters talked, his eyes scanning the audience until he saw his best friend sitting up in the front. He smiled warming when their eyes met, and he threw up a gentle wave. Yuri smiled and waved back, not realising he was on international television, nor that there were other people in the room.

“Yuri, who’s that in the audience you’re waving at?” The anchor asked cheerfully.

At first, Yuri didn’t know what she was talking about, but the moment it sank in he just shook his head and leant back in his seat. “It’s just my friend, Otabek. I was just saying hi.”

“You mean Otabek Altin? We have Otabek Altin in the audience?” She asked, joyfully peeking around into the audience, and then gesturing to him. “Yeah, there he is! Someone get a camera on him.”

The audience started to applaud. When the camera turned, it was clear he was uncomfortable, but he made do with it anyway. He threw up his hand in a simple hello before the shot cut back to the skaters and the host. “That was a wonderful surprise,” she laughed, then turned back to Yuri. “And that prompts a question everybody’s had for months now. Mr. Plisetsky, there’s been a lot of speculation and rumour that you and Otabek are together.”

“We’re good friends, yeah.”

“No, I mean,” she turned to the audience and grinned, raising her eyebrows slightly. Why the hell were TV personalities always so over the top? Yuri could only take so much annoyance for one day. _“Together.”_ The audience oohed, and when the camera cut back to Otabek’s reaction, he looked like he just about wanted to disappear into his seat as he slumped down some. It returned to Yuri shortly after. “Can you elaborate on that?”

“We’re just friends,” Yuri chuckled awkwardly, starting to feel really uncomfortable and on the spot. What if he slips up? What if he accidentally gives himself away without saying anything? He could feel every eye in the audience on him at this exact moment and it was like the weight of the world. Skating in the Olympics suddenly felt like nothing at all. “That’s all. We’re not together.”

_But I wish we were._

“You two seem so close, though,” she smirked playfully, nudging the air so that he could take the hint from across her. But then her ears perked up with what she thought was a great idea. “We have a couple in figure skating, and now, we have a _bromance!_ Yuri and Otabek are figure skating’s best bromance!”

“Let’s not call it that,” Yuri groaned. “We’re just best friends, why do you morons always have to make a big deal out of everything?”

The host just laughed, and then made a comment about how silly he was being, before turning back to Viktor to ask him some more questions. Yuri slumped down some in his seat, giving an apologetic look to his friend in the audience, who waved it off, but he was doing the exact same thing.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/37067682274/in/dateposted-public/)

The hotel was nice, as usual, and Otabek found himself in the room right next to Yuri’s this time, which was a plus. It was the day before the games would begin, and the two boys found themselves on the floor playing a game of their own: Connect Four.

“Son of a bitch,” Yuri mumbled – Otabek had just blocked his stealthy attempt with a row of black chips. He noticed a chance in the corner and took it, only for his friend to grin and place his own chip right on top of that. “Son of a _bitch,_ ” he repeated with a laugh.

“Not my fault you suck,” Otabek chuckled.

“You shut your mouth when you’re talking to me,” Yuri playfully hit him, then tried a different approach. Blocked again, but before Yuri could make a move, Otabek stopped him, showing that his block ended up giving him four in a row. He won.

“I’m unfriending you,” Yuri said, throwing his hands up in the air and leaning back.

“Let me win at something, you shit,” Otabek laughed, jokingly nudging him. Yuri just dumped the pieces and started throwing them at his face. At first, Otabek just held his hands up to cover his face, but when Yuri continued to throw them that’s when he leaned over, taking both of his hands and then pinning him down to the floor. “You can’t throw a tantrum now, can’t you?” He laughed again.

And suddenly, Yuri remembered: _oh no he’s hot._

He had to hide it with a smirk, and within that smirk was a suggestion that Otabek seemed to pick up on and reciprocate. “And what are you going to do about it?” He teased, keeping their eyes locked but Yuri’s hooded slightly.

The Art of Flirting was something where Yuri was still relatively new, something he was trying to get used to, but he was always able to fake it till he made it like nobody else could think about. Otabek, on the other hand, was _skilled._ He leaned down to where his mouth was just in Yuri’s ear, and he grinned. Yuri swallowed hard, and when he heard the man on top of him start to whisper he had to suppress a shudder. Probably a boner too. Once the words clicked in his head, however, anything sexy instantly leapt from the Art of Seduction to the Art of Laughing Until You Piss Yourself.

 

**********************************************************************

**THE SEXY SENTENCE:**

**“I dunno, I honestly didn’t think I’d get this far.”**

**********************************************************************

 

The room was hot.

Sweat lined their backs as they stuck to the sheets, bodies moving, clothes tugging, kissing at some kind of systematic rhythm.

 _“Beka,”_ Yuri whined.

Beka just shushed him, placing a gentle kiss at the top of his neck and below his jaw, right by the earlobe. His warm hand slid up the boy’s milky pale chest, fingers brushing over his nipples and letting out a deep breath at the sound he made in response.

They kissed before Yuri could whine again, their tongues picking up a new and distinctive taste. Otabek rolls his hips, and Yuri succumbs.

Yuri eyes snapped open as he shot straight up, his vision clouded and hazy as he looked around, noticing that Otabek was nowhere to be found. Confused, he peeked under the covers and saw that he was still completely clothed, his bed sticky with sweat as he slowly came to the realisation he was only dreaming.

With a heavy inhale and groaning exhale, Yuri pushed the duvet off his body, letting the cool air tickle his skin and into his lungs. He laid back down, his eyes wide open as he stared at the ceiling, his mind replaying his dream over and over and over again. He cursed his head for implanting the image, and then cursed himself again for remembering that it will never happen.

But, after that, he couldn’t sleep.

Worst timing, really. His short program was that next day and he couldn’t even get the proper rest in order to prepare his body for the competition. Just his luck.

He sat up, glaring out the window in a poorly-fated attempt to try and somehow convince the moon to either stop bragging, or to let him go to sleep. It was going to do neither. With a deep breath he reached over onto the nightstand, checking his phone and seeing the time: 3:17.

Yuri groaned, throwing his head back onto the pillow and staring back up at the ceiling, while his head continued to replicate the _sounds_ Otabek had made in his dream, the moon reminding him that he would never feel them breathed into his ears.

But that’s when he had an idea. It was a stupid one, of course, and it involved him acting like the other typical teenage boys his age, for once. He took a deep breath, bringing one hand up to cover his mouth, and his other dipping down into his boxers. It’s not like he’s never masturbated before, but the lingering thought that he was going to be getting himself off to the thought of his best friend was what caused his hand to tremble. One touch, however, caused him to change his mind on that. He looked around, remembering Otabek had left his scarf in the room without thinking about it, and quickly got up, grabbed it, and returned to the bed to resume, bringing the scarf up to his mouth, giving in to his urge to inhale. Yuri made sure that he didn’t make any noise, or any mess.

_Close enough._

* * *

 

There was something about watching Otabek’s free skate this time around that hit Yuri straight in the chest. He didn’t know what it was, or what it meant, but he remembered – very specifically – the look on his best friend’s face when they briefly made eye contact and locked it there. There was something in the eyes, but it clouded him elsewhere, Yuri could see that much; yet there was nothing but difficulty and strain surrounding the whole aura of the skate.

It felt so _harrowing_ and _raw._ Yuri could tell that he was definitely skating for someone, and in the corner of his eye he noticed Yuuri staring at him as if he was screaming: TAKE THE HINT!

He didn’t get it.

When Otabek stepped off the ice and onto the Kiss and Cry, he had broken his record – currently holding first place, just above Yuuri Katsuki. He didn’t know where the hell all of this came from since last season he didn’t even make it to the podium, but then he noticed his new coach. It was definitely the new coach. Or, at least he was sure that’s what it was. Basically, Yuri had to put on his best performance yet to top it.

Easier said than done.

He took a deep breath, and before he could glide onto the ice, Otabek stopped him, taking him gently by the shoulders and giving him a soft good luck. “I’m excited to see this for the first time,” he smiled reassuringly, then he laughed. “I can’t wait to see my best friend kick my ass on the ice again.”

_Oh, that’s right, you’ve never seen me skate Luminous before._

And then, it clicked. If he missed the chance now, he probably was never going to have it again – that he had to do this _exactly_ how it was intended to be written: a love story.

“Pay close attention,” Yuri grinned through his developing internal panic. He gave his friend a playful nudge. “It’s gonna change your life.”

Otabek just chuckled and waved at him slightly as he glided by, thinking that he was only meaning it as competitive talk; but what he didn’t know was that everything he just said had a second meaning. Or perhaps he did know? Perhaps his internalized sense of logic kept him grounded despite his optimism. Maybe that’s why many dreams die.

Yuri wasn’t going to let this one die.

He made his way to the centre, remembering the first line of the story he never told, the origin of Luminous that – after countless rewrites – he decided to use after his chest tightened in Hasetsu. He looked down to his skates, the clapping around him numbingly faint, and he closed his eyes.

_This is it._

Yuri had his hair in a simple ponytail, and he wore all black from his skates to his gloves, and the only thing that didn’t follow the trend was a red jacket he wore buttoned up to the neck. Of course, it had sequins that glimmered in the light, and it was a nice little pop of colour and symbolism.

The rink went silent, and Yuri inhaled, holding his breath from there on until he heard the first string rise in Luminous. Like many stories, he started with the first line – the hook, the introducing sentence – the hit.

_There were two friends, and one was in love._

He kept his movements swift, his gestures dainty, his face delicate. Any jump he had to do he used to strike, smooth like a hot knife on butter. It was as if he could dance while personifying and becoming the embodiment of a ribbon of silk. How rare and beautiful, indeed.

The story progressed, and he moved along with it. The friends started to grow together, living on about their day as the boy felt his heart longing more and more for the best friend.

_Are you watching, Otabek?_

He thought of their kisses – how every time they had gotten close to doing something remotely romantic it was shrugged off as it’s just what friends do. Platonic intimacy, of course, like everything else, has a line. He knew Otabek remembered as vividly as he did, and he wanted to just scream that the story was them. It was written to be performed _for him._

“Triple Lutz. Triple Toe.”

He thought of their Skype calls – the hundreds of hours talking in the darkness alone at night when nobody else was there. There couldn’t have been anyone else there; they didn’t _want_ anyone else there. They were fine as just the two of them.

_Take my body. Take my life. Hell, if it’s my soul that you want, I’ll give you everything. No holds barred._

“Turning on one foot with loops. He’s using the entire body, and keeping the flow.”

He thought of their visits together – every little moment they would lie awake in bed together and just talked until the sun would come up – he remembered the time he finally fell. Yuri was a master at performance on the ice, everyone knew this, but the moment he had to perform in front of his best friend for the sake of their friendship, it was _hard._ It was painful. And, from here on out, it was _over._ He caught a glimpse of Otabek when he was going into a spin – he was most definitely watching.

_Don’t you ever take your eyes off me._

“The jumps, the choreography, the transitions, the spins, all integrated into intricate patterns. Making a full program.”

He thought of his mother – how sad must all of this had been. He remembered how cold his father had made her when he left. How sad of a life must she have had since then. In a way, Yuri couldn’t help but feel just a little bit guilty that he contributed to it, and he knew he did. How sad must it have been to turn your back on love for the longest time, and then die after you find it.

_I refuse. I refuse to let that happen to me._

“Look at that position _and_ speed.”

He thought of Viktor and Yuuri – how far they’ve come, how far they’re going, how far they’ve taken him. They weren’t the parent’s he never had or anything that he used to think. They were his family, sure, but they were the family that Yuri needed them to be. They didn’t have to be a replacement to fill the void. They didn’t even fill it – they made a new void, and filled it there, overpowering everything else that he forgot that the old void even existed. They were always so happy.

_I want to be like them, but with you._

“Quite incredible.”

He thought of love, he thought of his place, he thought of every little dip and curve carefully engraved into the man he loved – the way he’d snort slightly before he’d laugh, the way his smiles were always warm and genuine, the way his voice of a rolling thunder complimented the way he smelled of rain. Yuri remembered love, and he found solace there.

_Otabek Altin…_

“He has the poise and this incredible feeling for the music that he’s able to portray with just one look at the very beginning of the program.”

He thought of their story. How it began and how he thinks it’s going to end. If it’s ending today with the story behind Luminous, at least he had his story told.

_The boy grew up, and finally, he stood at the edge of a cliff. A voice in his mind told him to take the blind leap, and finally he did. He confessed – he jumped – and the story stopped there._

Yuri was in his final spin now, his heart racing as the wind rushed past his ears, as he heard the final strings of Luminous echoing in the stairways. He glided out of his spins, and turned, looking for Otabek, with one final nail in the coffin for him – one final change that would seal everything forever.

He changed the ending pose again on the last note, his arms shooting out and his palms were open as if he were begging, as if he were giving – and it was aimed directly at Otabek Altin. There was thunderous applause, but Yuri couldn’t hear it. All he could hear was the sound of his own panting, the fading strings behind the chorus of flames in his ears. Flames that were lit a long, long time ago.

_He confessed – he jumped – and the story stopped there._

Yuri’s mind was in a haze. He knew he won gold, but the image of the medal was out of his head as soon as it came. All he could think about was the look on Otabek’s face when he outreached his arms – when he said everything he needed to say, without a single word used at all. The expression was going to be permanently seared into his mind.

 

**********************************************************************

**BY THE LOOK ON HIS FACE:**

**The story should have been left untold.**

**********************************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is!! The moment y’all have been waiting for since forever: the confession! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I’d love to hear what you guys thought of this piece. Thank you so much for reading!!  
> -Elena


	12. Catharsis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language  
> SONGS/ARTISTS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: Luminous by Max Richter on repeat  
> This going to be a very short chapter I apologise but I wasn’t going to put this in chapter eleven or thirteen like planned, so I gave it its own little poetic space. I loved the reactions from chapter eleven!! It was probably my favourite set of comments to read and I’m so happy you guys like it!! I’m working on the final chapter right now, but I don’t know when it’s going up because I’m going home this weekend. Anyway! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!!  
> -Elena

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**TOO LATE TO TURN BACK NOW:**

**He knows.**

**********************************************************************

Yuri heard Otabek calling for him as he pushed past the press in the crowd. He just had to avoid him at the closing ceremony, and then life would be relatively normal. How the hell was he supposed to confront his best friend after internationally confessing his love to him? God, he felt so fucking _stupid._

What the boy didn’t predict, however, was Otabek pushing through the crowd too.

The locker rooms weren’t a sanctuary. They were a prison, and he couldn’t escape so easily when he heard his name echoing off the walls.

_“Yura,”_ Otabek said, quite frantically too, as he rushed around the corridor and stopped his friend dead in his tracks, grabbing him by the shoulders.

_This is it. This is where it ends._

“Beka, look–I’m sorry–I shouldn’t have–I can explain–”

But before Yuri Plisetsky could finish his words, he found himself being lifted, pinned against the walls of the locker room. The only thing that could escape Yuri’s lips was a small gasp of surprise before Otabek’s lips took place instead.

 

**********************************************************************

**THE FACTS:**

**“Since Hasetsu.”**

**********************************************************************

 

When Otabek went home that night, he thought long and hard. What could Yuri have possibly wanted to say? And why didn’t he just say it before he got on the plane? Something was wrong and it wasn’t adding up. His mother seemed a little off about Yuri since he first got there. Did he do something?

Was it just because it was Mother’s Day?

Otabek didn’t really want to think about what could have happened with Yuri’s mother to make Yuri want to come with him to Kazakhstan on the day of, but he wasn’t going to push it. He wasn’t completely sure, so he wasn’t going to ask about the mother situation, nor what he was going to say to him at the airport.

Both will come when the time was right.

“Did you confess yet?” Erkin asked when he saw his younger brother walk through the front door. He didn’t even glance up from his laptop. “I thought you were going to do that _months_ ago.”

“Yeah, _you_ try talking to Yuri Plisetsky and then come back to me and tell me that it would be easy to tell him,” Otabek groaned, flopping onto the couch with a deep sigh. “And I didn’t tell him, because _he_ wants to tell me something instead.”

“Did _he_ confess?” Erkin chuckled. He was sitting adjacent to the couch in a single-seated sofa.

“No, he didn’t get the chance to tell me.”

Erkin groaned loudly before closing his laptop and looking at his brother. “For fuck’s sake—”

“—Erkin Altin watch your language!” A woman yelled from the kitchen.

“—Sorry, Ma!” He sighed and turned back to Otabek, lowering his voice now. “But seriously. One of you has got to say something because the rest of us out here are losing our minds.”

Otabek stayed quiet, thinking about the two of them before he looked over and glanced at the ring on his brother’s finger. _That’s right. It’s almost a year now._ “How did you know when the time was right?” he asked. When Erkin raised an eyebrow, he pointed to the finger. “To propose. How did you know when to ask her?”

Erkin’s other hand wrapped around his ring and wriggled it around his finger for a moment, thinking. Otabek had a point – and he caught him there. He was completely petrified to ask his wife for her hand for months. He carried the ring around everywhere until finally he just had to take a deep breath and take a blind leap. Turns out, the blind leap landed him a marriage and the greatest woman in his whole life. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “It just kinda…happened.”

“That helps a lot, thanks,” Otabek sighed, leaning back on the couch and dragging his hand across his face in a long swipe, staring at the ceiling.

_It’s never going to happen at this rate._

**********************************************************************

**THE FACTS (CONT.):**

**“The eyes of a soldier.”**

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Otabek couldn’t seem to forget

Just how utterly _heartbroken_ he felt

When he heard Yuri cry.

 

**********************************************************************

**ANOTHER TINY DETAIL:**

**Yuri tasted like honey. Otabek still smelled of cinnamon.**

**********************************************************************

 

Otabek loved his friends. Other times, Otabek hated his friends. But most of the time, he would jokingly tolerate them and have a good time because they were DJs at a club – what the hell else were they supposed to do?

Since his return to Kazakhstan, his DJ friends made sure that they would visit him at the club every night he would work there, just to harass him and catch up on everything they missed in the years he was away and training. The most popular subject among them, however, was the viral pictures of him and a beautiful little Russian fairy that he used to dote about since they met him.

“So, how’s your progress with him?” They would tease, giving him playful noogies and elbow nudges to the chest. He was the baby of the group, after all, might as well treat him as such. “Did you get very far?”

And every night, Otabek would go home with the constant reminder that he was going absolutely _nowhere_ with Yuri Plisetsky. It was completely frustrating and borderline infuriating. Why the hell was he so scared around him? He had to make sure to walk on eggshells around his best friend, so that not a single hint of his affection would be a curiosity in his mind.

And it hurt.

Every night, he would go home to his mother after practice or after a gig at the club, and he wouldn’t say anything at all. He would just have this disgruntled and exasperated look behind his eyes. Mrs. Altin always knew why.

It had been that way almost every night he’d come home ever since he came back from that summer program in Russia. He had a new look about him then, his eyes wide and he gaped at his surroundings as if they were a new breath of fresh air after years in smog. She didn’t want to pry on what happened, but she knew the moment he walked up to her and asked her a very simple question.

“Mama,” he had asked. “What do you do when you find out you’re in love?”

“Wait until they love you back.”

 

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**THE SURVIVAL CURE FOR LONELINESS:**

**Working yourself to exhaustion.**

**********************************************************************

 

There was a crisp kind of coolness that came with relief. It was like a breeze that cracked ice over a lake in wintertime, a white stillness that froze time itself in a little capsule as little flakes of snow melted on the tip of the nose. Then it pauses, before heat rushes in and completely floods the senses, the coolness turning into a burn – a dim ring of fire – and melting everything down at the fingertips.

That’s what kissing Yuri felt like.

His whole body was cold, but his mouth was warm, and within the sensation of feeling Yuri by his lips Otabek could have sworn that he was flying. It was like times on the ice where he’d glide along on one foot – nothing could even compare to how he felt in the air, not like how Yuri could make him float with just a kiss. Something so simple, Otabek thought, should never have this much power. It’s dangerous.

_He’s_ dangerous.

But what a beautiful, dangerous game it was.

Heaven was real, Yuri remembered. And it’s _here._ And it was here where Otabek finds, his lips buried into the crook of his neck – only to come back up and connect with the other lips again – that heaven was the key survival cure for loneliness. _Their_ heaven.

They kissed like they had never kissed before, and with Yuri’s hands cradling his love’s face he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Oh, how they had waited for so long. When they pulled apart – _finally_ – they didn’t say anything at first. The only sound echoing off the cobblestone walls were the heavy breaths and pants they were trying to catch.

Yuri, by this point, had his legs around Otabek’s waist for support and his arms wrapped around him to pull him closer, while Otabek kept him held up and pinned to the wall like he did before. Between his breaths, Yuri brought his fingers up to the Kazakh’s face, gently tracing along the skin as if he had never seen the man before. He had a new look about him then, his eyes wide and he gaped at Otabek’s face as if he was a new breath of fresh air after years in smog.

There was a brief pause, before finally, Otabek chuckled softly. “You skated for me,” he laughed slightly, as if he couldn’t even believe it. “You _kissed_ me.”

And suddenly, Saturn made sense. Otabek’s free skate was exactly like Yuri’s – a call for love. A confession. How could Yuri have been so blind? Why is just now that he was finally able to see? Regardless of it all, it didn’t matter anymore.

They were _here._

“I never thought you would…I couldn’t even…” Yuri laughed, not able to even finish his sentences. He was already struggling to finish his words. Otabek fucking Altin felt _exactly_ as he felt, and now everything was okay. They were more than okay.

They were _here._

Otabek’s hand reached up to brush the hair away from Yuri’s face, but again he faltered, instead cupping his cheek with it and pressing their foreheads together. It’s about time. “I can’t even begin to tell you what this does to me,” he whispered softly against his lips before they kissed again. It was brief this time, and when they pulled away Otabek finally had the decency – and the back pain – to help Yuri down and back onto his own two feet.

Yuri reached over to take his hands, and then Otabek yanked them away. Confused, he went to speak, before his friend cut him off, taking off his gloves. Then he turned back to Yuri, reaching a bare hand out, and saying a simple sentence:

_“Are you going to be my boyfriend or not?”_

Yuri stifled a laugh, and he reached his hand out, taking it and giving it a firm shake. Nobody had ever asked Yuri to be boyfriends before.

Otabek grinned, and he pulled Yuri by the arm they shook hands with and held him against his chest. They didn’t say anything more, just holding each other in an echoing silence, memories of their kiss still lingering on their lips.

After years of wanting, they had finally made it.

They made it to heaven.

 

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**A TIMELINE OF THREE KISSES:**

**1: The first**

**2: The champagne**

**3: The love**

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	13. String Theory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language, brief allusions of sex, ripping on dumbass antis hell yeah  
> SONGS/ARTISTS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: “The Chairman’s Waltz” from Memoirs of a Geisha on repeat, “forever” chillstep mix on YouTube  
> Cosplay photo credits go to DAIxSORA! This is it guys, this is the final chapter! No words can express how happy I am right now to have gone on this journey with all of you – I can’t even begin to describe how emotional I am with this, the first fanfiction I had consistently worked on and finished, and I couldn’t have gotten here without you. I’m forever grateful for you guys to go along on this journey with me, and thank you once again, so so much for reading this from start to finish. This was one hell of a ride, and I wouldn’t trade it in for the world. There’s an even sappier thank you message at the end notes. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed this fic – thank you for reading <3  
> -Elena

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**THE NEXT VIRAL PHOTO:**

**A blurry kiss on ice.**

**********************************************************************

It started with Yuri alone. His eyes were closed, his head slightly bowed, and he was as fluid as the ice after it melts. The music brought him back, echoing in silence just as it did in his ears at a café a long time ago. It was a pair of red headphones that brought them physically close together for the first time, eyes locked and scanning across lips as the lyrics played.

Yuri remembered that.

_I wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust._

_I wanna be your Ford Cortina, I will never rust._

Yuri remembered to stay swift in his movements, almost as if he were lost. Almost as if he was searching – and he was. The funniest thing about an artist is just how much of their own life that they project onto their work, and Yuri Plisetsky’s figure skating was no exception to that at all.

Already, Yuri felt like he would be hung out to dry if the two of them had separated. He had no idea how the hell he managed to be alone for that long and _content_ with it, much less hating the idea of becoming involved with someone. He was so _dumb_ , how could he have let himself be that way? Especially in front of Otabek?

Yuri thought back to just moments before, while they were just outside – or while they were in the locker rooms. He thought about the little things they confessed to while they were on the subject.

“Oh,” Yuri had said sheepishly, playing with his fingers, avoiding Otabek’s gaze. “That was what I wanted to tell you at the airport.”

Otabek smiled, gently tucking a finger under his chin and tugging upwards so that their eyes met.

“I had hoped so.”

_If you like your coffee hot, let me be your coffee pot._

_You call the shots babe, I just wanna be yours._

Otabek joined him on the ice then. They wanted to surprise their audience with this announcement, after all. God, the _roaring_ that came from the crowd then – if only a tiger could have heard it; it would have trembled in envy.

By himself, Yuri was delicate. He was fragile. He was porcelain and a simple flick would have shattered a ripple of cracks along his skin. By himself, Otabek was a thunderstorm that grew up in the night. He was a force. He was metal and not even the strongest of warriors could make a dent, much less pierce his armour.

But together, they were a weapon. They were unstoppable. They were the very reason why wars started, and the very reason why they ended. They held each other at balance, and through that, they were the ones that would tear down dynasties and create legends – they were gods, and their home resided among the stars.

_Secrets I have held in my heart, are harder to hide than I thought._

_Maybe I just wanna be yours._

_I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours._

 

**********************************************************************

**A PAINTED IMAGE:**

**Loose hair, rushed eyeliner, and a flickering light in the corner.**

**********************************************************************

 

Yuri adjusted his costume, fiddling with the fabric and the leather in the mirror and sighing when he saw that the jacket was _not_ going to cooperate with him. Music was drumming from the next wall over and the fluorescent pale green glow of bathroom lights were his only source of vision in front of the mirror. He didn’t have a lot of time left – this exhibition was completely improvised, after all.

Three knocks.

“Yuri?”

“It’s unlocked.”

The door opened, and Otabek peeked his head inside, gesturing him to leave. “You’re almost on.”

Yuri nodded, taking one last look at his reflection. It was long – a little too long – long enough to make Otabek slowly walk in and wrap his arms around him from behind, locking eyes with him through the mirror. “Are you alright?”

Yuri nodded again, his hands reaching up and holding onto Otabek’s arm around his chest, watching his head rest on his shoulder and place a gentle kiss to his jaw. “I’m just thinking.” He wasn’t lying there.

“What about?”

“How are we going to make this work?” Yuri asked, not breaking the gaze. Otabek blinked, before he looked down, turning to where his face was pressed into his neck as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“We’ll make it work.”

“That didn’t answer my question,” Yuri said quickly.

Otabek’s grip on his arms tightened, before he finally sighed and looked back at Yuri through the mirror. They stared for a moment, then Otabek let out a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He smiled slightly. “I honestly didn’t think I’d get this far.”

Yuri chuckled softly, before his face resumed to how it was – worried, anxious, but overall reborn. It was a new breath of life that brought colour to his world again. When before, everything was grey, now there is a stain – a stain that cannot be washed out, a stain that brought the beauty back to life.

“Let’s just take this one day at a time,” Otabek said after a moment. “It’s not like we’ll be far away forever, and it’s not like we’ll never get the chance to see each other again.”

There was a pause, before Yuri finally took a deep breath and nodded. He broke from Otabek’s grasp so that way he could turn away from the mirror and look directly in his eyes, one hand reaching up to cradle one side of his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but one look at the man in front of him and all of it was completely forgotten.

Otabek smiled, returning the gesture on the opposite side of Yuri’s face. He leaned in close, the whisper tickling his cupid’s bow, “that’s okay. I forget to breathe around you sometimes, too.”

And with that, they pressed their lips together one more time – “for good luck” – before they walked out to take the rink by storm.

Just like everything else that may come in their lives from that point onward, they were going to tackle it together. Regardless of who or what or when or why or how or anything of that matter, from that moment on they would never have to worry about facing the world alone, because they would face it together.

And it was sealed with a kiss, at the very end of a song together on the ice. It was written by the Arctic Monkeys.

 

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**THE UNANIMOUS THOUGHT OF EVERYONE WATCHING:**

**_Finally._ **

**********************************************************************

 

The skate ended in thunderous applause, the final lyrics still rang in Yuri’s mind.

_I just wanna be yours. Wanna be yours._

The two of them just stood there for a moment as they watched the audience, completely mesmerised by the roaring standing ovation they had received. Yuri turned back towards the edge of the rink, where he noticed Viktor and Yuuri – side by side as normal, but they looked different now. Yuuri was cheerful for the pair, as expected, but Viktor had a specific smile on his face. It was genuine, but also as if he was holding back a grin.

As if he had known all along.

“Yura,” Otabek tugged at his arm as they started to glide off. They had been standing there for a little longer than he thought.

When they stepped off, Yuri looked back to Viktor – his look hadn’t changed – and he went to go say something, but he just took a deep breath and decided otherwise, smiling as he stepped off to the side.

That little shit.

**Yuri Plisetsky**

@yuri-plisetsky

**My bad, here’s one in high quality. || Photo Credits:** **@v-nikiforov**

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/37989430196/in/dateposted-public/)

**2/26/18       7:14 P.M.**

**11K Retweets            57K Likes**

For Yuri’s birthday, Otabek gave him his whole body.

Otabek didn’t give him that initially, of course – that was something else – but the first day they were back together in person a week before Worlds they found themselves together in a rushed haste of kisses before they could even take off their coats, collapsing to the bed within minutes.

Upon Viktor’s request Yuri had moved into their new apartment since they had a spare and “depressingly empty” room and thought it would be better for the boy. At first, Lilia didn’t want him to, but she gave in – and nobody knew why.

“Otabek,” Yuri whispered softly between each kiss.

Otabek just smirked – Yuri by this point had already opened the gift during the car ride from the airport. “Happy birthday,” he said.

“Otabek,” Yuri repeated, shivering slightly at the slight taste of him. “I want you.”

“You have me,” he said.

“No, dumbass,” Yuri sighed. “I want you to take me.”

Otabek stopped, pulling back and sitting straight up and looking at the boy with a _very_ sudden nervousness. “Are you even like, of age to ask me that?”

“The age of consent in Russia is sixteen. I’m past a year now. Where’s the issue?” Yuri raised an eyebrow as he sat back up with a deep breath. “Do you not want to? Because I understand if you don’t want to. Don’t think I’m pressuring you.”

“No, I _really_ want to,” Otabek confessed, and sighed. “Maybe just, wait another year? Because what if I leave a mark? Do you know how quick some people over in America would cry paedophilia—”

“—Oh my fucking god, I’m seventeen.—”

“—I know that, but you seem to forget how itchy some of them are. They just _want_ a controversy just because they don’t like us together.” He had a point there. He’s seen how twelve year olds can get on Tumblr when it involves something as petty as shipping – and it was _ugly._

Yuri shrugged. “Just don’t leave a visible mark, then. Besides, it’s not like some haven’t been having sex since before the age of consent in their country anyway. Hell some of them are probably even writing fanfiction about this very moment.”

Otabek laughed slightly before just shaking his head. “What about Viktor and Yuuri? Aren’t they here?”

“They left for groceries a little while ago. They’ll be gone for hours because Viktor will find something that he didn’t need but he wanted it because it was bright and cool looking and expensive,” Yuri waved it off. “We don’t have to worry about that.”

“Do you have lube? Condoms? We’re not going to do any fanfiction alternatives here. We need the actual thing and if you don’t have it—” Yuri opened his drawer and smacked several single-use packets of lubes and condoms of different kinds onto the nightstand. “—Where did you even get those?”

Yuri chuckled slightly. “I’ve been visiting universities in-between seasons. I’m almost done with schooling, so I’m gonna need to go somewhere after that. They’ve been handing these out for free.”

Otabek hummed slightly, taking off his scarf and his gloves as he looked over to his boyfriend across from him on the bed. “I forgot about that. Uni’s fun. Any idea what you’re majoring in?”

“I’ll find out after I retire,” Yuri started to unzip his coat. “Are there any more questions or are we going to do this?”

Otabek took off his coat and tossed it to the side, taking Yuri’s and doing the same. He leaned back in to kiss him again, but then stopped when he noticed Yuri’s sudden shaky breath. “…you’re nervous.”

“I mean, yeah. It’s our first time,” Yuri said quietly.

 _His_ first time.

Otabek’s been there; it’s not like he was born yesterday. He knew exactly what that tone of voice was because _he’s_ used it before. He just sighed and leaned back again, looking at Yuri one last time. “Are you absolutely sure about this? I’m going to go very slow with you. Very _gentle,_ no matter what you say. Or, if you’d like I can bottom instead.”

Yuri nodded with a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll be okay.”

Otabek opened his mouth to speak, but it was cut off by a desperate look on his lover’s face. He leaned back in close again, clutching onto his face. “You’re going to be the absolute death of me, Yuri Plisetsky.”

“Make some room for me when you do.”

Lips were captured once again, and then they laid down.

* * *

 

Watching Saturn felt completely different to Yuri now that he knew what it meant. The pair were the newest buzz at Worlds this year – Viktor and Yuuri were already old news since they were the year before. Often, group interviews would include them both, but also Otabek as well now that they were established as a pair.

And they were _always_ compared.

It drove Yuri a little nuts, and rightfully so, but he was able to look past it when he could feel his fingers laced together with Otabek’s very discreetly on the couch the four of them would share. It was a fair trade, at least.

The last time Yuri watched Saturn he was confused; he remembered the movements and the message not being able to break through the thick wall of reality he had built for himself, as if the possibility he was thinking of was the furthest away from his mind.

_With shortness of breath, I’ll explain the infinite._

_How rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist._

Yuri couldn’t stop smiling. It was like cute little kisses on his eyes, a gentle hold from his shoulders and a string of love reminded in his ears. Watching Otabek skate with a new and fresh pair of eyes was almost existential, but it was still stunning and captivating and completely romantic in every way. It said everything, all while saying nothing at all.

Luminous was the exact same way.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153385754@N07/37989438546/in/dateposted-public/)

The hotel room was specifically cool, contrasting the heat they shared with their bodies. They weren’t doing anything in particular, other than just laying together in silence while wrapped up in each other’s arms.

“This is nice,” Otabek whispered quietly, finally – they had laid in a light silence for a long while. “This feels right.”

Yuri hummed slightly, and when Otabek looked down, he noticed that Yuri was mostly asleep, forcing himself to be awake to pay attention to what he had to say. Otabek just smiled, shaking his head and kissing the top of the boy’s head, shushing him softly to let him go to sleep.

He slipped under easily, his hair sprawled all along his face as his breath would slowly push the strands forward and back again. He looked so at ease, so completely calm and peaceful like how he had every time before – it was like during their Skype calls, where’d they talk for hours until finally someone would give in to sleep prodding at their eyes. Just now, Otabek remembered that.

That’s when the Kazakh took a deep breath, leaning back slightly so he could keep his eyes on the Russian right next to him sleeping so peacefully. He watched his chest slowly rise and fall, as his fingers curled just slightly as they lied there, listening to the soft breathing and calmness about the boy while he wasn’t awake. A few more strands fell in front of his face, covering the eyes and across his mouth.

Otabek’s arm gently reached forward and touched his skin, pausing for a moment, before he finally pushed the hair behind the blonde’s ear, his thumb stroking across his cheek as he did so. His fingertips rested softly on the boy’s face for a few moments, before taking one last breath – one last deep look – and then closing his eyes altogether.

 

**********************************************************************

**WHERE THEY STAND:**

**Boyfriends – just boyfriends – apparently they loved each other long before.**

**********************************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you guys once again so much for going on this adventure with me. I’m so incredibly proud of myself for making it and I’m so proud of you guys for being such a wonderful and supportive little fanbase through all of this. I don’t think this fic would have been anywhere near as special to me without the love and support you all have given me throughout the months I’ve written this, and I can’t thank you enjoy for it. A special thank you goes to my beta, Abby (AbbyWritesTrash on Ao3, check out her work it’s hella), for having the misfortune of looking at my first draft and helping me through it anyway. Another special thank you goes out to Lily, my best friend who I love so much and was the backbone for Otabek and Yuri’s friendship. And lastly, once again, one final special thank you goes to you, my reader, for clicking on this fic and watching the story unfold every step of the way. While Luminous comes to an end in my Spotify, and as your reading of this comes to a close, I want to thank you one last time.  
> This has been String Theory.  
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed.  
> Much love,  
> Elena.


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